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AGNES GRANT’S 
EDUCATION 


BY 


HOPE DARING 



CINCINNATI: JENNINGS & PYE 
NEW YORK: EATON & MAINS 



THi*XT»>APEY^OF 
COMO R ESS, 
CuPifcu Reosived 

S£P, 13 1902 

(^nPVrilOHT entry 
/ 7 UIV( iS^I^ 0 T^ 
CI.ASB CL XXa Mo 

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COPY 3. 





Copyright, 1902, 

by 

Jennings & Pye 



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CONTENTS 


Chapter 


Page 

I. 

The Beginning, - 

5 

II. 

The Cripple, 

21 

III. 

A Son’s Wrong-Doing, - 

36 

IV. 

Shadows, .... 

• - 52 

V. 

Bereavement, 

69 

VI. 

One Year in High School, 

84 

VII. 

Bertie’s Faith, 

99 

VIII. 

An Unjust Accusation, 

115 

IX. 

Merry Christmas, 

- 131 

X. 

Graduation, 

146 

XI. 

A Great Bereavement, 

161 

XII. 

Family Troubles, - 

177 

XIII. 

The Severing of Old Ties, 

- 193 

XIV. 

College, - - . - 

208 

XV. 

A New Friend, - 

- 223 

XVI. 

Duty, 

239 

XVII. 

Genevieve Again, 

256 

XVIII. 

The Surrender of Agnes’s Will, 

272 

XIX. 

Growing, 

- 288 

XX. 

A New Outlook Upon Life, 

303 


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Agnes Grant’s Education 



CHAPTER I 

The Beginning. 

TTLE Agnes Grant was ready to com- 



' mence the acquiring of her education, in 
the general acceptance of the term, on the sunny 
May morning when our story opens. The so- 
called “summer term” of school began that day, 
and Mrs. Grant was combing Agnes’s hair. This 
would be the child’s first day, consequently she 
could talk of nothing else. 

“Do you ’spose the new teacher will be 
cross, mamma ?” she asked, trying to fix her bright, 
brown eyes on the patient face that bent over her. 

“Do hold your head still, dear,” Mrs. Grant 
said, gently. “No, the teacher will not be cross; 


5 


6 Agnes Grant’s Education 

not if you are a good girl. There, now, stand 
still until I get you a clean apron.” 

Agnes could hardly be said to stand still, for 
she whirled round, first on one foot, then on the 
other. But as the mother had only meant that 
the active little girl should not run away, Agnes 
obeyed the spirit of the command. 

The room in which this conversation took 
place was the largest apartment of the rude-look- 
ing but comfortable log-house which was the home 
of the Grant family. The great beams that crossed 
the ceiling, as well as the spaces between them, 
had been covered with a glistening coat of white- 
wash ; the walls were smoothly covered with news- 
papers ; green paper curtains shaded the windows ; 
the great heating stove was polished, and a bright 
rag-carpet was on the floor. An old-fashioned 
chest of drawers stood in one corner, a calico- 
covered lounge in another, and a table, a rocking- 
chair, and a half-dozen wooden chairs comprised 
the rest of the furniture. Yet it was a homelike 
room. It was scrupulously clean. There were a 
few books on a shelf, one or two simple pictures 
on the wall, and the table held a pitcher crowded 
full of sweet-scented purple lilacs. A large bed- 


The Beginning 


7 


room was at one side, and a kitchen opened from 
the back part of the room. Above was a loft 
where the children slept. 

As Mrs. Grant emerged from the bedroom, 
carrying the blu^ gingham apron, a twelve-year- 
old girl came down the stairs. This was Jennie, 
Agnes’s only sister. She was fair, strongly re- 
sembling her blonde mother. With Jennie was 
Bertie, the baby. 

^^Bertie wants to go to school, too,” he an- 
nounced, pouting his full scarlet lips. Then, 
with an impatient toss, he threw the close-clinging 
yellow curls back from his forehead. “Bertie be 
good.” 

“O, you are too little, baby,” Agnes said, 
patronizingly. “You wait till you are big, and 
five years old, like me.” 

Jennie laughed merrily, caught up Bertie, and 
smothered his expostulations with kisses. Even 
the mother’s usually grave face lighted with a 
smile at the grown-up air of her little daughter. 

Just then Arthur, a son three years Jennie’s 
senior, entered. He was a strong boy, with a 
dark face, and slow, languid movements. 

“You girls better hurry,” he said, gathering 


8 


Agnes Grant’s Education 


up the books Jennie had found for him. “I saw 
the teacher and Mattie Barker go by a long time 
ago. I think school is a bother. I wish I did 
not have to go.” 

“I am sorry you feel that way, my son,” Mrs. 
Grant said, and Agnes cried: 

“Why, Arthur Grant, are n’t you ’shamed to 
talk that way ? If you do n’t go to school and get 
a dedication you won’t amount to anything. I ^m 
going every day, and get so I can have a lot of 
books, and know everything. I shall have a 
dedication, sure.” 

A shout of laughter went up from the chil- 
dren, and the round face of Agnes began to 
grow very red. Mrs. Grant lifted her daughter 
to her lap for a moment, while she explained to 
her the difference between the words education 
and dedication. Then, kissing the child, she 
tied a pink calico sunbonnet over the smooth 
hair, and gave her the cherished new primer. 
The mother stood in the doorway, and watched 
the children as they walked down the road, the 
tin dinner-pail Jennie carried glistening in the 
sunshine. She watched them out of sight, and, 
as she turned to her work, she sighed wearily. 


The Beginning 


9 


It was only eleven o’clock when Mr. Grant came 
in for dinner. He manifested no impatience be- 
cause it was not ready, but seated himself in the 
doorway, and watched Bertie, who was playing in 
the woodyard. James Grant was a tall, well-pro- 
portioned man. There was a proud light in his 
dark eyes, and an unsatisfied, almost a scornful, 
expression on his face. 

Mrs. Grant was more mindful of the work 
waiting in the field than was her husband. She 
hurried about, making coffee, cooking potatoes 
and salt pork, and setting the table with a coarse 
white cloth and a scanty supply of heavy earthen- 
ware. 

‘‘Agnes went off to school, happy as a queen, 
did n’t she ?” the father asked, suddenly. “How 
anxious the little witch has been to go! Helen, 
she will make a bright woman.” 

“I hope so,” Mrs. Grant said, pausing a mo- 
ment, and letting her eyes wander over the hills 
to a bit of woodland, where the trees were al- 
ready clothed in myriad shades of green. “I had 
hoped, James, that all our children could have 
good educations.” 

“Precious lot of good it would do them in 


lo Agnes Grant’s Education 

this backwoods country/’ And a shadow settled 
on Mr. Grant’s brow. ^‘How much better off am 
I for the years I spent in school — or you, either, 
for that matter? Our education has never helped 
us to clear up this farm. There ’s no use wasting 
so much time. Now, there is Arthur. He was de- 
termined not to go to school, and I had to promise 
to let him stay out when haying begins.” 

‘T hope you did not make him that promise,” 
Mrs. Grant said, uneasily. 

''Well, I did. I shall need his help, and the 
boy is getting too big to make do things he does 
not want to do.” 

"If he is too large to obey you at fifteen, how 
will it be when he is twenty? O James, I am 
afraid—” 

“Isn’t dinner ’most ready?” Mr. Grant asked, 
rising, and stretching his arms above his head. 
“I ’m powerful hungry. As to Arthur, you need n’t 
worry. I ’ll ’tend to him.” 

Mrs. Grant made no reply as she placed the 
plain but appetizing food upon the table. She 
greatly deplored her husband’s lack of govern- 
ment over the children. Although kind and af- 


The Beginning 


1 1 

fectionate in his family, Mr. Grant was too em- 
bittered by what he chose to consider his own 
hard fate to make the best of life. 

Meantime, little Agnes was demurely seated 
by Jennie’s side, and her bright, wide-open eyes 
were intent on the novel sights about her. Her 
feet did not reach the- floor, while the straight- 
backed wooden bench was not a comfortable 
seat ; but Agnes gave these things no thought. 

The teacher was a sweet-faced girl, whose 
gentle words at once won the heart of Agnes. 
The delights of going up to stand in the long 
‘‘primer class,” of drawing pictures on Jennie’s 
slate, and of watching her schoolmates, kept the 
little girl busy and happy all day. Before the 
hour of dismissal arrived she had resolved to 
carry on her own education — she said this word 
over many times that day to herself, emphasiz- 
ing the first syllable — until she could teach school. 
Agnes was always sure of her ability to do any- 
thing upon which she set her heart, and now she 
settled it, in her own mind, that she was to be a 
school teacher. 

Even at that early day Agnes was no vain 


12 


Agnes Grant’s Education 


dreamer. She understood that to be a teacher 
she must possess vast stores of knowledge. 
Eager to enter upon the work the busy little 
brain had mapped out, the child applied herself 
assiduously to the task of learning her letters. 
Thus, on her first day at school, Agnes exhibited 
the two traits that characterized her future — 
ambition and determination. 

Agnes’s progress at school was remarkably 
rapid. This delighted her mother, for Mrs. Grant 
had been pained by the indifference toward books 
shown by both her older children. She, as well 
as her husband, had enjoyed much better educa- 
tional advantages in early life than were offered by 
their present surroundings. For this was twenty- 
five years ago, and the excellent school system 
of the Western Central States was then in its 
infancy. 

Nor was this the only deprivation suffered by 
the people living in that comparatively new 
country. There was no regular Church service 
nearer than at Walters, a town three miles dis- 
tant. Occasionally some itinerant minister, whose 
life was devoted to telling the story of the cross, 
would preach at the schoolhouse. Mrs. Grant 


The Beginning 


13 


always attended these meetings. This was not 
so much because she longed for the spiritual 
help to be obtained by an attendance upon the 
ministry of God’s Word — for alas! she was not a 
Christian — as because it seemed to be a link bind- 
ing her to the old home, whose privileges she so 
much missed. 

There was a great difference in the disposi- 
tions of the two oldest children of the Grant 
family. While Jennie did not greatly care for 
books, her school tasks were done thoroughly, 
for it was her nature to do all things well. She 
delighted in the work of the house, and was 
never so happy as when doing something to help 
her mother. 

As for Arthur, his father’s indulgence, added 
to a certain aptness of his own, had caused the 
lad to regard himself as superior to his asso- 
ciates. He learned easily, but disliked the rou- 
tine of school. His shrinking from the work was 
already so evident that it caused his mother much 
uneasiness. Much of his time was spent hunt- 
ing and fishing. 

Two years went by. The last winter Arthur 
attended school irregularly, and frequently an- 


14 Agnes Grant's Education 

nounced that it was his last term. The teacher 
at this time was Miss Martha Dunning, a thought- 
ful, cultured woman of twenty-five. Jennie and 
Agnes learned to love her dearly, and she even 
inspired a sort of chivalrous regard in the breast 
of Arthur. He stoutly defended her practice of 
commencing the day’s work by reading a few 
wprds from the Bible and repeating, in concert 
with the children, the Lord’s Prayer. He told 
his mates that, while this had no special mean- 
ing, it was customary in a well-ordered school. 

Miss Dunning was to return to the school for 
the summer term. The beginning of this term 
had been eagerly looked forward to by both 
Agnes and Bertie. The dearly loved little brother 
was then to be granted the one thing he had so 
greatly desired — he was to commence going to 
school. 

The first day arrived. Miss Dunning sat 
alone in the dingy little room where she had 
already passed so many laborious but pleasant 
hours. She was a tall, slender woman, with a 
serene face, and calm gray eyes. The morning 
was warm and damp, the air that entered at 


The Beginning 1 5 

the open door carrying with it something of the 
heat of midsummer. 

Little Agnes was the first arrival. She was 
alone, and, ere the child spoke, the quick eye of 
the teacher saw that something was wrong. 

“Good morning, dear little sunshine lassie,” 
was Miss Dunning’s greeting. Then, as Agnes 
dropped her books and dinner-pail, and, throw- 
ing her arms about her teacher’s neck, began to 
sob, she drew the quivering form close to her, 
and went on : 

“What is the matter, Agnes? Where are Jen- 
nie and my new pupil, Bertie?” 

“O, Bertie is awful sick ! He did want to come 
so bad, but when he tried to get up he was just 
as white as could be, and fell over. Poor Bertie ! 

I ’m so sorry 1” 

The teacher soothed the child with gentle 
words and caresses. When she had grown , 
calmer Miss Dunning learned that Bertie had 
been ill for several days, but had not been in 
bed until that morning. Jennie had remained 
at home to help her mother. 

“I think Bertie will soon be better, dear,” 


1 6 Agnes Grant’s Education 

Miss Dunning said, gently, and, comforted by 
these words, Agnes was soon playing merrily 
with her little friends. 

Before dismissing her pupils that night the 
teacher told them she wished them all to invite 
their parents to come with them to the school- 
house the next Sunday afternoon. There they 
would organize a Sunday-school. 

'‘We are learning so much about books, and 
the beautiful world,” she said in conclusion, 
“that I think we should learn about the dear 
Father in heaven and Jesus, the Savior who died 
for us, and who loves us all.” 

These words impressed Agnes. She thought 
about them all the way home. When she reached 
the house she found Bertie eager to hear about 
the day at schoool. 

The little boy was lying on the lounge, his face 
flushed with fever. He had asked again and again 
for Agnes, and as soon as she arrived, insisted on 
her telling him all that had occurred at school. 

This Agnes was eager to do. She went over 
the details of the day, finishing her story with 
the announcement of the proposed Sunday-school. 
Bertie listened with great interest, interrupting 


The Beginning 17 

her with many questions. When all was told, he 
began to cry. 

‘‘I want to go to Sunday-school, too. I want 
to know ’bout Jesus. Who is he, Agnes ?” 

^‘Why, Bertie Grant, don’t you know that? 
He ’s the One we pray to at school. He can do 
anything.” 

Bertie’s blue eyes were open to their widest 
extent. ‘‘You said he died,” he cried, fretfully. 
“Then how can he do things ? I do n’t believe 
you are telling it to me as the teacher said it.” 

“I do n’t know much ’bout it myself,” Agnes 
admitted. “Here, mamma,” as her mother en- 
tered the room, “tell Bertie and me ’bout Jesus.” 

So Mrs. Grant, with a reproachful memory of 
neglect of duty, tried to make her children un- 
derstand something of the wondrous One who had 
been both God and man. Her voice faltered, 
and her husband, who was sitting in the door- 
way, saw her wipe a tear from her cheek. Helen 
Grant was recalling the teachings of her own 
Christian mother. Why had she wandered so far 
from the path trodden by that sainted mother’s 
feet? 

There was little sleep for the anxious parents 


1 8 Agnes Grant’s Education 


that night. Bertie grew steadily worse, and be- 
fore the day dawned was tossing in wild delirium, 
talking all the time of the Sunday-school, and of 
the ‘'good Jesus.’^ 

As soon as the gray light of morning came 
creeping over the earth, Arthur was roused and 
sent to Walters after Dr. Miller. 

The doctor came at once. He was a quiet, 
strong-faced man of few words. Although young, 
and a resident of Walters for only a few years, 
he had already won the confidence of all who em- 
ployed him. 

His face grew very grave as he examined his 
little patient. After preparing and administering 
the medicine he remained for some time. When 
he was about to leave Mrs. Grant followed him 
to the door. 

“Tell me what you think of my child,’’ she 
urged, her voice laden with unshed tears. 

Dr. Miller looked frankly into the mother’s 
face. “I can hardly venture an opinion until I 
see how the medicine operates. I am afraid the 
fever must run its course, but, with youth and 
good care on his side, there is more room for 


The Beginning 


19 


hope than for fear. I will come again early to- 
morrow morning.” 

Two weary weeks followed. Outside the earth 
was gay with flowers and glad with the songs of 
wild birds. Within the little home was the quiet 
of hushed voices and careful steps. The merry 
prattle of the child was replaced by wild ravings. 
Through all those days Bertie never forgot that 
last conversation with Agnes. In that dwelling, 
where God’s name had been so rarely mentioned, 
it was now lisped by the child, who begged to be 
told “ ’bout the good Jesus who loves us.” 

Miss Dunning was often by that sick-bed. 
Neighbors came, kindly sharing both the work of 
the house and the care of the little sufferer. There 
was no presence so soothing to the child as that 
of the teacher. Mrs. Grant also found her a com- 
fort. 

^Tray for my child,” the mother whispered one 
evening as she followed Miss Dunning to the door. 

The latter turned, and took both the hands of 
the pale woman in hers. 'T am praying for him,” 
she said, in a low, firm voice; “but, my friend, 
there are no prayers like a mother’s.” 


20 Agnes Grant’s Education 

Hot tears from the eyes of Helen Grant fell 
upon the clasped hands. ‘'I am trying to learn 
to pray,” she whispered, brokenly. “If I had only 
commenced before! God seems so far away.” 

“Do n’t think of him that way. Remember 
that to Bertie even now he is the One who loves 
us. He is the near, dear Friend, and yearning to 
comfort and help you.” 


CHAPTER II 


The Cripple. 

TV yT ISS DUNNING said good-night, and was 
about to go, when Agnes slipped one plump 
little hand in hers. 

“Please may I go just a tiny way down the 
road with you, teacher ? It is n’t dark yet, and I 
am not a bit afraid.” 

The teacher gladly consented. It was a beau- 
tiful evening. The sun had disappeared from 
sight, but the west was still aflame with rosy light. 
The fruit-trees were masses of odorous flowers', 
and from the bushes growing along the roadside 
came the sweet vesper song of a bird. 

For a few moments they walked along in 
silence, both drinking in the beauty of the scene. 
Then Agnes said: 

“Everything is so pretty and so glad. Only 
Bertie is sick, and — ” She stopped and looked 
wistfully in the other’s face. Apparently what 


22 


Agnes Grant’s Education 


she saw there encouraged her, for she went on : 

asked Jesus last night to make him better, and 
this morning mamma said he was worse.” 

Miss Dunning stooped, and, putting one arm 
around Agnes, drew her closer. 

"‘Little girl,” she began, smoothing the child’s 
dark hair, “do you remember how, last winter, 
you used to long for summer and the flowers ?” 

“Yes, I remember,” Agnes cried, “and some- 
times it seemed as if they never would come ; but 
I knew they surely would.” 

“Can you not be as patient now, and wait for 
God to answer your prayer? You asked him to 
take care of Bertie, and he surely will. He loves 
your little brother. We can not always see why 
he brings things about as he does any more than 
we could see why the snows of winter must come 
before the flowers of spring.” 

“But if Bertie should die,” the child whispered, 
tears gemming her lashes. 

“I hope he will not. If he should he would be 
safe and happy in heaven, where we would never 
again be sick or suffer pain. Would not that be 
really answering your prayer, dear, although in 
a different way from what you meant? God loves 


The Cripple 23 

Bertie, and will do what is best. Can you not 
trust him, Agnes 

There was a moment’s silence — a moment in 
which Agnes gazed into the glowing west. A 
wondrous light came into her grave little face. 
She turned again to her teacher. 

‘‘Yes, I can. I will just leave Jesus to take 
care of brother Bertie.” 

Kissing Miss Dunning good-night, Agnes re- 
turned to her home. Her companion hurried 
on, her heart made glad by the child’s faith. 

Another week passed. Bertie’s fever was gone, 
but he did not seem to mend. He could not stand, 
and complained of pain in his back. Still, now 
that the immediate danger was over, the family 
was hopeful, and all talked of the time when the 
child would be well and strong. 

His interest in school and Sunday-school was 
great. Jennie and Agnes gave him faithful ac- 
counts of all that was done at both places. Espe- 
cially was he interested in all they told him about 
Jesus. He often begged for the presence of Miss 
Dunning, and listened to her with a comprehen- 
sion that seemed unnatural in a child of his years. 
Sometimes, when, startled by his wise questions. 


24 


Agnes Grant’s Education 


the teacher lifted her eyes, she met the earnest, 
almost imploring gaze of his mother. 

One afternoon Miss Dunning had remained at 
the schoolhouse after her pupils had all gone 
home. She had just finished some work at her 
desk when she saw the horse of Dr. Miller halt 
before the open door. She went forward, and, 
at sight of his grave face, her heart sank. 

“Will it be possible for you to go to the 
Grants’ to-night?” he asked. “They will need 
you.” Then, seeing her questioning look, he 
went on, speaking slowly as if each word cost 
him an effort: “I am on my way to perform one 
of the saddest duties that has ever fallen to my 
lot. I have feared this for some time, but, not 
wishing to trust my own judgment, have written 
to the president of the medical college from which 
I graduated. I have just received his reply, and 
his opinion is the same as my own.” 

“But, Dr. Miller, I do not understand. Is 
Bertie worse?” 

He shook his head. “I thought you saw my 
fears. Miss Dunning, Bertie will never be able 
to walk, at least, not without crutches.” 

There was a long silence. Martha Dunning 


The Cripple 


25 


put out one hand and grasped at the edge of Dr. 
Miller's carriage for support. All the sweet 
sights and sounds of the June afternoon seemed 
blotted out. Bertie a helpless cripple! To the 
sympathizing woman came something of a real- 
ization of what this would mean to the fond 
mother and proud father. 

‘'O Dr. Miller, what can we do ?" 

^‘There is only one thing we can do. We can 
pray God to give these poor parents strength for 
this hour. To comfort them is beyond our power ; 
we can point them to the One who can comfort." 

Even in that hour of distress Miss Dunning 
was conscious of a feeling of surprise. Dr. Miller 
was a Christian. Was that the secret of his calm- 
ness and helpfulness? 

“Will you come over after an hour ?" he asked. 
“I know Mrs. Grant would prefer your pres- 
ence to that of any other person." 

“Certainly I will come. I am glad you thought 
of asking me." She had turned to re-enter the 
house, but suddenly paused and held out her hand. 
“May our Helper be with you in this trying hour 1" 

“Thank you." His hand closed firmly over 
hers. 


26 


Agnes Grant’s Education 


He drove on. The teacher went back to her 
desk and bowed her head in prayer. It was but 
a few moments she sat there ; when she lifted her 
face it was plainly to be seen that God’s promise 
of loving companionship with those who serve 
him had again been verified. 

An hour later Miss Dunning stood at the door 
of the humble home of the Grants. The walk 
along the quiet road where the sun, then low in 
the west, had cast long shadows, and the per- 
fume of the wild roses that greeted her, had 
soothed and quieted her. 

Her knock was answered by Jennie. The 
young girl’s face was swollen, and her eyelids 
were red, yet her first thought was for another. 

“Mamma will be so glad to see you,^’ she 
whispered. “The doctor said you were coming.” 

Within, Mrs. Grant was sitting in the rocker, 
holding Bertie in her arms. The little wan face 
brightened at the sight of the newcomer. 

“I ’m glad you ’ve come. The doctor has been 
here, and he made mamma and Jennie cry. You 
tell me the story Agnes said you told at Sunday- 
school yesterday. Is it true that Jesus was once 
a little boy like me?” 


The Cripple 27 

“Yes, dear. Let me take you so your mamma 
can rest, and I will tell you all about it.’^ 

“A little boy like me,’’ he repeated, dreamily, 
as his mother allowed Miss Dunning to lift the 
wasted form in her strong arms. “And did he 
have a mamma who loved him, just as my mamma 
loves me?” 

“Yes;” and Martha Dunning laid one hand 
upon that of Bertie’s mother. “Jesus, our Savior, 
had a mother whom he loved very dearly. 
Through her he loves all mothers. Dear friend, 
does not that help you ?” 

Helen Grant waited a moment, then said, 
slowly: “He has been calling me all these weary 
weeks, and at last I have heeded. I promised 
Dr. Miller an hour ago that I would put my child 
and myself in God’s hands.” 

A glad light in the eyes of Miss Dunning made 
words unnecessary. She warmly pressed the 
mother’s hand, then gave her attention to Bertie. 

The teacher staid until the shadows of even- 
ing were gathering. She learned that neither 
Agnes nor Bertie had yet been told that the lat- 
ter’s helplessness was more than temporary. 
Mr. Grant did not appear, but Miss Dunning un- 


28 


Agnes Grant’s Education 


derstood from Jennie’s troubled words that he 
had refused to accept the doctor’s verdict, and 
had at once gone to the field. 

Miss Dunning had gone but a little distance 
on her homeward way when she saw Bertie’s 
father approaching from the opposite direction. 
He was passing with a formal bow, when she 
stopped, and held out her hand. 

'‘I have just come from your home, Mr. 
Grant. May I not tell you how sorry I am for 
you all in this great trouble?” 

'‘Thank you,” he replied, coldly. “You are 
very kind, but I do not attach much importance 
to Dr. Miller’s forebodings. If they should be 
verified” — and his face grew dark — “if my child 
is always to be a cripple, I shall lose faith in God 
and man.” 

“Why?” and the clear gray eyes of the teacher 
gazed through the dim light straight into those 
of the excited man. “Why should you lose faith 
in man. Surely you are not blaming any person 
for Bertie’s illness. Dr. Miller has done all pos- 
sible for him. As for losing faith in God, Mr. 
Miller, dare you question his will? Whatever he 
does is right.” 


The Cripple 


29 


He grew very pale. ‘‘You do not under- 
stand — ” he began, but broke off abruptly. 

“Pardon me if I hurt you,” Miss Dunning 
went on. “I know how your heart aches. If you 
would only see that your love for Bertie typifies 
God’s love for you,” and she hurried on. 

Bertie continued in a weak condition all sum- 
mer. When the bracing days of early autumn 
came, however, he began to gain strength. A 
faint pink stole into his pale cheek, his laugh 
rang out with the olden merriment, and it often 
taxed the resources of his mother and sisters to 
amuse him. 

There had been a great change in the Grant 
household. Mr. Grant was always silent and 
morose. He was kind to the members of his 
family, and especially tender towards Bertie; but 
he had ceased to be a real companion to his 
wife and children. He felt himself to be a 
wronged man; felt that it was unjust that this 
sorrow should have come to him; and, most of 
all, he resented the spirit in which his wife ac- 
cepted it. He was angered at her appropriating 
the love of Christ to herself. He disapproved of 
her reading the Bible and praying with the chil- 


30 


Agnes Grant’s Education 


dren. Mrs. Grant deplored this state of mind. 
Still, she could not give up her sweet, new-found 
hope, neither could she allow herself to fail in her 
long-neglected duty to her children. 

Arthur was beginning to cause his mother 
many uneasy hours. He had refused to attend 
school. His mother urged upon her husband the 
need of some regular work for the boy, but 
Mr. Grant refused to listen to her. The conse- 
quence was Arthur spent many of his days and 
nearly every evening at the store, which had 
been established a mile from the farm. A saw 
and grist mill were there, and when a store and 
post-office were added, Wharton, as the place was 
called, became a lounging place for the idle. 
Arthur was witty and bright. He was warmly 
welcomed at the store, and found the story-tell- 
ing and trials of strength attractive. When re- 
monstrated with by his mother he was never rude 
to her, but laughed at her fears and continued on 
in the same way. 

Jennie and Agnes attended school regularly. 
The dependence of Bertie developed thoughtful- 
ness in both girls. Jennie never tired of read- 
ing to him or of amusing him in any way she 


The Cripple 


31 


could. But it was to Agnes that the little boy 
turned for real companionship. She hastened 
home at night to give him a full account of the 
day at school, often surprising their mother by 
her power to recall and reproduce even the most 
trivial incidents. Miss Dunning suggested that 
Bertie be taught to read, and Agnes proved a 
skillful and willing teacher. 

Instead of making him petulant, Bertie’s ill- 
ness had seemed to strengthen his natural sweet- 
ness of disposition. He grasped the idea of the 
helpfulness of Christ’s presence in the heart in a 
way seldom possible to an older person. Both 
of the girls had also given themselves to God, 
and this was a source of great joy to their mother. 

“I do not understand it,” Mrs. Grant said to 
Miss Dunning one Saturday afternoon, when the 
teacher was spending an hour at the farm- 
house. '‘I believe it is easy for Bertie and Jennie 
to be good. Arthur and Agnes are so different. 
Agnes is impulsive and daring. Love alone can 
rule her. Bertie’s dependence has had a great 
influence upon her. She loves him, delights to 
efface herself for him, and has thus learned 
thoughtfulness for others.” 


32 


Agnes Grant’s Education 


“Perhaps you are right and a thoughtful look 
came to Miss Dunning's face. “Mrs. Grant, I 
often speculate concerning the future of Agnes. 
She has one of the brightest minds I ever knew. 
Whatever she does is done with her whole heart. 
She will surely succeed in life." 

The mother smiled, then sighed. “I think she 
will, if her energies can only be directed aright. 
Her life will not be an easy, uneventful one; of 
that I am sure. I can do little to shape her future, 
save to pray that her aims may always be worthy." 

At the close of the winter term of school Miss 
Dunning accepted a position in a distant town. 
While her departure was deplored by all, it was 
especially regretted by the Grants. The devoted 
teacher had done much good in the community. 
The Sabbath-school was in a flourishing condition, 
and would be continued. 

Agnes was inconsolable when the hour of part- 
ing came. Only Miss Dunning's promise to write 
comforted her. The little girl had just begun to 
comprehend that Bertie's helplessness was perma- 
nent, and she had, that very morning, opened her 
heart to Miss Dunning on the subject. The 
teacher was grieved to see that the child was 


The Cripple 


33 


animated by something of her father’s bitterness. 
It was not so much that Agnes felt her brother’s 
affliction to be unjust as that she could not see 
why it should be. 

Miss Dunning talked to her a long time. She 
almost forgot it was a child of eight whom she 
was addressing, for Agnes seemed to possess the 
reasoning power of an adult. The teacher strove 
to impress upon her pupil’s mind not only that 
God’s ways are always right, but also that some- 
times the thing that seems so hard to bear is the 
result of our own surroundings. Dr. Miller had 
always said that Bertie’s fever was caused by the 
malaria of the new country. 

“God permitted it, dear,” Martha Dunning 
concluded, “and for some good purpose. Can 
you not remember, when your mother has for- 
bidden your doing something you greatly desired 
to do, and you could see no good reason for her 
command? Yet you knew your mother loved 
you, and would not willingly deprive you of a 
single pleasure. Remember, Agnes, God loves 
you and your little brother with a love stronger 
and more tender than even a mother’s.” 

Into the dark eyes of the child came a look of 
3 


34 


Agnes Grant’s Education 


comprehension. She was learning a new lesson, 
learning it with the same eagerness she brought 
to bear upon her school tasks. How sweet it was, 
this sense of nearness to the great all-wise Father 
who watched over her! 

After the departure of Miss Dunning time 
passed by uneventfully with the Grants. Dr. 
Miller had never lost his interest in Bertie, 
and often stopped to see him when driving by. 
Sometimes he brought a package of papers and 
magazines to the children. As these were selected 
with much care, they proved a valuable mental 
stimulus to Agnes. 

From idleness and low company Arthur soon 
advanced to dissipation. He continued at home, 
helping his father in the busy season, but spend- 
ing the most of his time in hunting, fishing, and 
lounging at the store. Mr. Grant had also lost 
ambition concerning the farm work, and the strict- 
est economy was necessary to make their scanty 
income meet their expenses. 

These things wore upon Mrs. Grant. She grew 
very thin and pale. Jennie began to be vaguely 
uneasy about her mother’s health, and did all in 
her power to lighten her labor. 


The Cripple 


35 


It was two years after Bertie’s illness before 
he could use a crutch. Even then he could get 
about but little. Notwithstanding the pain he suf- 
fered and the deprivations that fell to his lot, 
his was by far the sunniest face in that home. 
Bertie loved Jesus with a confiding, trusting love 
that enabled him to accept all things as from his 
hand. Agnes could not understand the serene 
calm in which her brother dwelt. 

“O, Bertie, if I could only be sweet and good 
like you!” she used to cry when her hasty im- 
pulsiveness had brought some passing cloud across 
her horizon. 

Over the face of the crippled boy would come 
a smile of woundrous beauty. To him no one was 
as wise or good as Agnes. 

“Why, sister, it is because you are all so good 
to me that I never get cross,” he explained. 
“Don’t you always tell me everything you see 
or hear in the woods or at school? Somehow, 
you see so much more than any one else. Then 
you help me with, my books. I know ’most as 
much as if I had gone to school, and you have 
done all that, Agnes.” 


CHAPTER III 


A Son’s Wrong-Doing. 

T ime sped by until Agnes was thirteen. She 
was a tall, slender girl with a sparkling face. 
Already she had entered the highest classes at 
school, and her mother often sighed at her daugh- 
ter’s eager outlook on the future. Mrs. Grant 
knew that it would be impossible for them to con- 
tinue Agnes’s education further than their own 
school would permit. 

It made the mother very unhappy, for she saw 
that Agnes possessed real talent. Still, another 
and greater trouble often drove this from her mind. 
Arthur was now a man, nearly twenty-three. For 
several months he had been drinking heavily, often 
being absent from home for days at a time. He 
worked only enough to provide himself with neces- 
sary clothing and the means for gratifying his de- 
praved appetite. 

Jennie was three years ►his junior. She had 
spent all the years of her girlhood at home, and 
36 


A Son’s Wrong-Doing 


37 


had taken upon herself the entire work of the 
house. Mrs. Grant was a confirmed invalid, and 
her eldest daughter firmly believed the greater part 
of the trouble was mental. 

One day in April Jennie had been out in the 
field, looking after the young lambs. To be sure 
there were two able-bodied men in the family, yet 
the girl well knew if she did not do this it would 
go undone. The day was bright and sunny. The 
grass and young grain were beginning to clothe 
the fields in soft green, and, in sheltered nooks, 
brave hepaticas and wood violets were lifting their 
heads. 

On passing through the gate into the lane, 
Jennie paused a moment, and let her eyes wander 
over the quiet scene. Away to the right the silvery 
waters of a brook sparkled in the sunlight, while 
in the tree just beyond her a pair of robins were 
twittering. How peaceful it all was! Yet the girl 
turned away, a sob rising in her throat. 

Just then Arthur, his gun on his shoulder, 
came over the brow of a hill. Jennie watched 
him until he was close at her side. Then, com- 
pressing her lips, she stepped out into the lane 
and joined him. 


Agnes Grant’s Education 


“Arthur^ there is something I want to say to 
you,” she began hurriedly. Without giving him 
time to speak, she went on : ‘‘When I was at 
Walters last week I went to the office of Dr. 
Miller and talked to him about mother. I have 
been worried over her for months. You must 
have seen, Arthur, that she is failing. Well, 
the doctor admitted that she is in danger. He 
says unless she can be relieved of her anxiety 
and provided with comforts she will not live long ; 
that sudden excitement might kill her.” 

Her voice faltered. The young man shifted 
his gun uneasily from one shoulder to the other, 
and asked laconically: 

“Well?” 

“Arthur, do n’t you know you are mother’s 
chief cause of anxiety?” Jennie asked, boldly. 
“Why do n’t you stay away from that store and 
let drink alone? It is not pleasant for me to 
speak to you about these things, but, Arthur, I 
must do something. Neither father nor you 
seem to care about the work of the farm. There 
are so many things we have to do without, things 
that would make mother more comfortable. She 
is uneasy about Bertie’s future, and wants to send 


A Son’s Wrong-Doing 


39 


Agnes away to school. I tell you, Arthur, some- 
thing must be done.” 

Jennie had never spoken in this manner to her 
brother. Her grief over her mother’s failing 
health had given her the needed courage. Ar- 
thur’s face flushed. He felt the justice of every 
word that Jennie uttered, but, too selfish to re- 
spond to her appeal, took refuge in anger. 

“What makes you come to me with all this?’^ 
he demanded, roughly. “It ’s none of your busi- 
ness what I do. You talk as if I ought to furnish 
the money to send Agnes to school and keep you 
all in luxury. I ’m under no obligation to work 
for the family. Why do n’t you earn money your- 
self instead of staying at home, doing nothing?” 

Jennie began to cry. “How can you talk so, 
Arthur?” she sobbed. “I would be glad to earn 
money for us all if mother could spare me to go 
away from home.” Then, as a sense of her 
brother’s indifference to her own feelings grew 
strong within her, she went on sadly: “Why is 
it not your place to do for mother and the chil- 
dren as much as it is mine? Am not I giving 
them the best years of my life? You know Aunt 
Mary offered to let me come to her at Walters 


40 


Agnes Grant’s Education 


and learn dressmaking. Nobody knows how I 
wanted to go, but mother could not do the work 
alone. I think I have a right, Arthur, to ask 
you to do better for — ’’ 

Arthur would hear no more. With a muttered 
oath he turned aside, leaped the fence, and strode 
off across the fields. 

“The coward !” cried a passionate young voice. 
“Jennie, I wish he would never come back!’’ 

Wheeling round, Jennie saw Agnes close be- 
hind her. The young girl had returned from 
school across the fields and, hurrying forward to 
join her brother and sister, had heard Jennie’s 
acount of her visit to Dr. Miller. Stunned by the 
knowledge of her beloved mother’s danger, Agnes 
had walked silently along, without thinking that 
she was listening to a conversation not meant for 
her ears. 

“You must not say that, Agnes,’^ was Jennie’s 
reply. 

Agnes was very pale. Her eyes gleamed like 
coals as she came close to her sister’s side and 
clutched her arm. “I mean it!” she cried, excit- 
edly. “Jennie, I am so glad you said what you 
did, only it should have been ten times more. Our 


A Son’s Wrong-Doing 41 

precious mother ! I shall die if she does ! And to 
think she worries about my going away to school ! 
I ’ll leave school now and go to work. Mrs. Ken- 
field wants a girl for the summer, and I am sure 
she will give me a dollar a week. That will help 
some.” 

The elder sister gently interrupted the rapid 
flow of words : ‘‘Agnes, I am sorry you heard what 
I said to Arthur. I did not intend that you should 
know about my going to Dr. Miller. You must 
not think of leaving school and going away from 
home. It would only add to mother’s worries, 
besides Bertie would be heart-broken without you. 
You must be brave, Agnes, and help me. All we 
can do is to make our mother as happy as possible, 
and pray to the Savior to help us.” 

“But I think Arthur is wicked !” the passionate 
child cried. “I should think God would punish 
him now.” 

“Do n’t talk so, dear,” Jennie said, taking one 
of Agnes’s hands in both her own. “We must love 
Arthur and be patient with him. God loves him.” 

“Why, Jennie, how can you say that?” 

“Because it is true.” 

Conflicting emotions were pictured on the face 


42 


Agnes Grant’s Education 


of the younger girl. The sisters had paused at 
the gate leading to the barnyard. Over their 
heads towered a great maple-tree, its branches 
bright with the pendant red blossoms that pre- 
ceded the foliage. Agnes pushed back her faded 
hood and fixed her dark eyes upon her sister. 

‘‘Do you mean that, Jennie? Do you think 
God loves Arthur as well as he does Bertie ?” 

It was a hard question for Jennie to answer. 
“God is love,’’ she said, a far-away look in her 
eyes. “I can’t explain it to you, Agnes, but I 
know God loves us when we do wrong, and it 
grieves him, just as it does mother. I am sure 
the love is always there, and because of this I 
try to be patient with poor Arthur.” 

Agnes did not reply for a moment. At last 
she kissed her sister, saying: “If I could only be 
good like you, Jennie! I love enough, but I need 
to love differently. I will try to do what you want 
me to.” 

The girls went on to the house. Jennie, 
remembering her swollen eyes, was glad her 
mother was lying down. Bertie noticed the 
gravity of both girls, but asked no questions. 


A Son’s Wrong-Doing 43 

When Agnes wished him to know she would tell 
him, and until that time he would trust her. 

Jennie’s appeal to her brother produced no 
effect. As the spring advanced he spent more 
and more time away from home. The family 
knew he was often in the company of a party of 
roughs, known as “the Crooger gang.” 

Agnes tried hard to be a comfort and a help to 
her sister. All talk of going away to school was 
hushed. However, she still cherished a feeling 
of resentment towards Arthur, and was often ruled 
by a sense of bitterness and injustice. 

In the middle of June Arthur went away from 
home directly after dinner one day, and did not 
return that night. The next day passed. It was 
not until the family were at supper that he ap- 
peared. He was pale but sober, and replied briefly 
to all remarks addressed to him. His coming 
seemed to cast a gloom over the entire family. 
It was as if they were impressed by a foreboding 
of evil. 

The meal was nearly over when a step sounded 
at the door. Before any one could rise, Mr. 
Silas Martin, a gruff old man who lived a couple 
of miles distant, entered the room. 


44 Agnes Grant’s Education 

“Ah, good evening,’' he said. “I see you are 
all here. No, I '11 not sit down. I guess I better 
see you outside. Grant. And Arthur, too — O yes, 
I want to see Arthur,” and an evil-sounding laugh 
broke from his lips. 

“Come in, Kestrick,” he continued, turning to 
a second man who had halted outside the door. 
“At any rate, step up where the young man can 
see you.” 

Mr. Kestrick was a constable. It needed but 
one look at Arthur’s livid face to convince his 
parents that something was wrong. After a furtive 
glance around the room, as if seeking some way to 
escape, he rose and doggedly followed his father 
and Mr. Martin. 

A silence fell upon the little group left at the 
table ; a silence broken at last by impulsive Agnes. 
Rising, she hurried to her mother’s side, and, tak- 
ing the bowed head in her arms, cried: 

“Mamma, mamma, do n’t look so ! We all love 
you!” 

The mother clung with feeble energy to her 
young daughter. “Let us pray, my children. 
Pray for your poor brother. O, my boy, my 
boy!” 


45 


A Son’s Wrong-Doing 

They could do nothing but cling together, 
weeping softly. It was an hour before Mr. Grant 
again entered the house. Even his wife shrank 
from the look of anger in his eyes, yet he con- 
trolled his voice, and, in the fewest possible words, 
told the whole sad story. 

The night before Mr. Martin’s house had been 
entered, and fifty dollars taken from his safe. He 
had not announced the theft, but had spent the day 
making inquiries. All the evidence he had col- 
lected pointed plainly to the ‘‘Crooger gang,” 
aided by Arthur, as the thieves. Mr. Martin 
was a hard-hearted, miserly man. He knew that 
action against the Croogers would not result 
in the return of his money, as they had no prop- 
erty. So he had come to threaten Arthur with 
arrest unless two hundred dollars was immediately 
paid him. The warrant was made out, and in Kest- 
rick’s pocket. If the money was paid, the mat- 
ter would be kept secret. Otherwise Arthur 
would be lodged in the jail at Walters that night, 

Mr. Grant told this in a hard voice. He de- 
clared his belief in his son’s innocence, but con- 
cluded by saying: “It is unjust, like all the rest 


46 Agnes Grant’s Education 


of my life. That brute has Arthur in his power. 
My boy shall not go to jail; I will die first.’’ 

Jennie thought her mother was swooning. But, 
by a great effort, Mrs. Grant conquered the faint- 
ness that attacked her, and asked: “What does 
Arthur say? Let me talk with him.” 

“What does he say ?” Mr. Grant repeated, more 
roughly than the children had ever heard him 
address their mother. “What is the use of his 
saying anything? Martin’s web is too craftily 
spun. There is no use of your talking to him. 
All we can do is to raise the money.” 

There was a shdrt pause. Mrs. Grant leaned 
her head against the calico-cushioned back of her 
chair, and closed her eyes. Each one of her chil- 
dren knew the fear at her heart. It was not the 
thought of the disgrace, nor the money difficulty, 
but the fear of her son’s guilt. 

“There is nothing else we can do,” Mr. Grant 
went on testily. “Why do n’t you say something?” 

The mother sat up, and wearily put one hand 
to her forehead. “How can we raise two hundred 
dollars?” she asked. Then, her innate sense of 
right triumphing over all else for a moment, she 


A Son’s Wrong-Doing 


47 


went on, slowly: ‘‘It is not right to buy silence 
in such a way. It would be hush money.” 

Mr. Grant turned angrily upon his wife. “Call 
it what you please. I believe you ’d see Arthur 
go to prison before you would raise a hand to save 
him. Martin offers to take a mortgage upon the 
farm for the amount, and you must sign it. Kest- 
rick is a notary public, and they have all the papers 
with them. I ’ll tell them to come in and make 
it out.” 

Mrs. Grant made no comment. In response to 
a signal from her husband, the men entered, Mr. 
Martin saying, in a loud voice : 

“You jest set down on that doorstep, Arthur, 
till these here papers are signed. I do n’t intend 
there shall be any mistake ^bout it.” 

Arthur obeyed. His face was aflame with angry 
passion, and he resolutely kept his eyes turned 
from his mother’s face. 

In a few moments Mrs. Grant’s signature was 
required. She took her plate at the table with- 
out a word. She had toiled beyond her strength 
to help free their home from debt, and this was 
an act of injustice to the other children ; but she 


48 Agnes Grant’s Education 


was powerless. However, she stayed her hand 
a moment, and raised her eyes to Martin. 

"‘The amount is two hundred and twenty-five 
dollars?’’ she said, questioningly. 

“Certainly, ma’am,” the scheming old man re- 
plied, boldly, albeit his eyes wavered before her 
steady gaze. “You see, folks always have a 'shave’ 
when they ’commodate a man to money. This here 
bargain is jest as if Mr. Grant had got the money 
of me to pay some one else.” 

She did not speak ; but even Mr. Martin quailed 
before her look of quiet scorn. She signed her 
name and rose from the table. 

Mr. Martin put the papers in his pocket. “Now, 
this here hull thing shall be kept still. Kestrick 
won’t speak of it ; I ’ll answer for that and he 
turned, with a leering smile upon the officer, who 
was so deeply in debt to his employer that he dared 
not refuse to obey any command. 

Very little was said by the members of the 
Grant family after the departure of their unwel- 
come guests. At an early hour they all retired, 
and darkness and quiet settled over the unhappy 
home. 

The loft was divided into two rooms by a rough 


A Son's Wrong-Doing 


49 


board partition. The room at the head of the 
stairs contained Arthur’s bed, the inner one that 
of Jennie and Agnes. Bertie could not ascend the 
stairs, so he occupied a small bed in the sleeping 
apartment of his parents. 

Agnes was so excited that she could not sleep. 
She remained quiet until Jennie’s half-stifled sobs 
ceased, and her regular breathing showed that 
sleep had brought her temporary respite from sor- 
row. Then Agnes rose, and tiptoed to the win- 
dow. A full moon looked down from an unclouded 
sky, lighting the scene with the peculiarly distinct 
yet unreal brilliancy of moonlight. Not a breath 
of air stirred the branches of the fruit-trees directly 
beneath her. Their shadows were sharply outlined 
on the dew-spangled grass below. 

Hark ! what was that ? A sound below. Agnes 
caught her breath. Just then the clock chimed 
out the midnight hour. When the last stroke had 
cleased, the listening ear of the young girl heard 
a cautious step on the stairs. Moving noiselessly 
forward, she drew aside the curtain that hung in 
the doorway between the two rooms, and peered 
out. 

It was her mother, slowly ascending the stairs. 

4 


50 Agnes Grant's Education 

She carried a candle, and shaded the light with 
one trembling hand. Her hair was disordered, 
her face wan and ghastly, while she had thrown 
on a worn and faded wrapper. Carefully placing 
the light on the floor, she advanced and knelt by 
the side of the bed. 

Agnes could not move. Neither did the silent 
form of her brother stir. The weird picture lighted 
by the dim glow of the candle, and the radiance 
of the moon that looked in at the window, the 
rudely-furnished room, the rafters, brown and 
time-stained, overhead, that pathetic kneeling fig- 
ure — every detail was forever stamped on the 
memory of the impressionable girl. 

Presently low, broken words of prayer and sup- 
plication came to her ears. It was not the far-away 
being to whom she sometimes felt as if she were 
praying that her mother was speaking to, but a 
tender, loving Friend. There was no word of im- 
plied reproach for the wayward son, only the most 
gentle love. Agnes’s tears fell like rain, and at last 
a smothered sob broke from the occupant of the 
bed. 

“Mother, don’t, don’t! I can’t bear another 
word !” 


A Son’s Wrong-Doing 51 

Very tenderly was the head of the strong man 
lifted to his mother’s breast. A few whispered 
words passed between them, words that Agnes 
realized were too sacred for the ear of another. 
After a little Mrs. Grant said in a louder voice : 

“May God bless and keep my first-born! Re- 
member, Arthur, your mother’s prayers will ever 
be waiting for fufillment, and our Father is a 
prayer-answering God.” 

Then, with a tender kiss, she went softly down 
the stairs, and Agnes crept back to bed. Until the 
clock again struck she lay, recalling every inflec- 
tion of her mother’s voice, and pondering the les- 
son of that mother’s unfaltering faith in God. At 
last she fell asleep. 


CHAPTER IV 


Shadows. 

I T was later than usual the next morning when 
the Grants arose. Both Jennie and Agnes 
were surprised when, on passing through Arthur’s 
room, they saw that he had risen. He seldom ap- 
peared below stairs until breakfast was ready, and 
never assisted his father care for the stock. 

Mrs. Grant was unable to rise. Jennie was 
sure her mother had not slept at all. But the 
wise daughter did not speak of this; she gently 
shook up her mother’s pillow, stroked the aching 
head, and promised that Agnes should bring her 
a cup of coffee in a short time. 

When the simple meal was ready to serve Mr. 
Grant entered the house from the barn. In re- 
sponse to Jennie’s inquiries concerning the where- 
abouts of Arthur, the father said he had not seen 
his son, and supposed him still in bed. It was 
plain that Arthur had made his way secretly out 
of the house, but whether this was done in the 
52 


Shadows 


S3 


night or in the early morning no one knew. Jen- 
nie ran upstairs, and came down with the an- 
nouncement that his scanty supply of clothing was 
gone. 

Mr. Grant’s face darkened. suppose he has 
run away, and I do n’t blame him much. There ’s 
very little about life here to induce one to endure 
it. Come, let ’s have breakfast.” 

Jennie sat down and poured his coffee. She 
could not eat, and, as soon as possible, slipped 
away to her mother’s side. Agnes was there, sit- 
ting on the edge of the bed and gently smoothing 
her mother’s hair. Mrs. Grant lay with her eyes 
closed, and from beneath the lashes the tears 
coursed slowly down her wasted cheeks. 

The oldest daughter knelt down by the side 
of the bed. “Mother,’^ and by a strong effort she 
kept her voice steady, ‘Temember Arthur can not 
get beyond God’s care, nor beyond our love.” 

This was a great deal for the always-quiet Jen- 
nie to say. Mrs. Grant opened her arms and drew 
both daughters to her in a close embrace. For a 
time their tears flowed in silence. After a little 
the mother struggled to a sitting posture, and bade 
Agnes bring her fresh water to bathe her face. 


54 Agnes Grant’s Education 

“Then I will drink some coffee, and you girls 
must eat your breakfast. I have left it all with 
God. We can trust him fully, my children.” 

So, each striving for the sake of the others, 
the little family tried to put aside the sorrow 
that shadowed their home, and be cheerful. The 
summer passed. No word from Arthur -reached 
them. They were blessed with bountiful crops, 
and Mr. Grant worked with more energy than he 
had displayed for years. 

Agnes was often unhappy over the sense of 
relief she was conscious that Arthur’s absence 
brought her. The child was very proud. It had 
been a keen humiliation to wake in the night 
and listen to his heavy and uncertain footsteps 
on the stairs, or to meet the glances of her young 
friends when he staggered by the schoolhouse. 

She was still Bertie’s teacher. Together they 
read and studied their few books as well as those 
loaned them by Dr. Miller. They spent many 
happy hours together. Out in the orchard in the 
summer, on the old lounge in winter, the dark 
head and the golden one bent together over a book. 

Early in the autumn Mrs. Grant took a severe 
cold. For several weeks she was indisposed, and 


Shadows 


55 


finally made no objection when Jennie insisted on 
sending for Dr. Miller. 

The doctor’s visits were always a source of de- 
light to Bertie. So it was not difficult for the 
faithful physician to evade the questions of Jennie, 
especially as he promised to call again in a few 
days. 

When on his way to make this second visit he 
overtook Mr. Grant returning from the store. The 
doctor stopped his horse, and asked the other to 
ride, saying briefly: 

“I want to talk to you.” 

Mr. Grant settled himself in the seat, and 
looked questioningly at the resolute dark face at 
his side. 

‘"Mr. Grant,” the doctor began, "‘it is about 
your wife I want to speak. Have you any idea 
that she is in a dangerous condition?” 

^^Dangerous ! Helen in danger ! Dr. Miller, 
you must be mistaken.” 

Dr. Miller shook his head. “I wish there was 
a chance for me to be. Her lungs are badly af- 
fected. With care, I hope to get her through the 
winter, but the spring will tax her powers of en- 
durance to the uttermost.” 


56 Agnes Grant’s Education 


A curious gray pallor overspread the face of 
James Grant. Twice he essayed to speak, and 
the words died away in an articulate murmur. 
Finally he managed to say : 

^‘You mean you think she will not live through 
the spring?’^ 

The doctor's face softened. ^'Frankly, my 
friend, I fear she will not. Of course, you under- 
stand that I will do my best for her. I thought it 
only right to tell you. For her sake and that of 
your children, you must be brave." 

After a few minutes Mr. Grant partly regained 
his composure. It was decided that nothing should 
be said to alarm the children. 

Jennie's eyes, sharpened by anxious love, had 
already detected the signs of danger. There was 
nothing she could do save to lavish all the love 
of her constant nature upon her mother. Mrs. 
Grant understood, and the bond between mother 
and daughter daily grew stronger. 

As the winter wore away both Agnes and Ber- 
tie began to feel a vague uneasiness regarding 
their mother. She coughed a great deal, and spent 
much of her time on the lounge. Still, she never 


Shadows 


57 

complained, and was as greatly interested as ever 
in all they said or did. 

The effect of Dr. Miller’s communication upon 
James Grant had been most marked. After the 
first bitter hour of protest and unbelief he had 
unquestioningly accepted the fact that his wife was 
soon to go from him. He did not accept it sub- 
missively, but with a hot rebellion against what 
he styled “a cruel fate.” Mr. Grant unjustly ac- 
cused Providence of ill-treating him. He brooded 
over his troubles, growing morose and neglecting 
his work. 

His wife saw this, and attempted to talk with 
him concerning the matter, but he impatiently 
refused to hear her. Helen Grant was never more 
sure of her husband’s love than during those try- 
ing days. She often lifted her head to find his 
eyes fixed upon her in a gaze of despairing adora- 
tion; yet he refused her the sympathy and com- 
panionship for which her soul longed. Mrs. Grant 
sighed when some impatience of Agnes brought 
to her bright young face a faint resemblance of 
her father’s unrest of soul. 

Agnes came home from school one day late in 


Agnes Grant’s Education 


March in a most despondent mood. However, 
her face brightened a little when she saw the plump, 
middle-aged woman sitting by her mother. 

'‘Aunt Mary Kent!” she exclaimed, hurrying 
forward to kiss the visitor. "I am glad to see you.” 

"Well, I ’m glad to hear you say that, for I Ve 
come to stay two or three days,” Mrs. Kent replied, 
resuming her knitting. 

Mrs. Kent, whose first husband had been a 
brother to James Grant, resided in Walters. Her 
present husband was a man of considerable means, 
and his children were all married and settled in 
homes of their own. Mrs. Kent was always kind 
to the Grants, although her fretting at their pov- 
erty and Arthur’s dissipation had been hard to 
bear. Jennie was her favorite among the children. 

Agnes had chatted gayly for a few minutes 
when the cloud returned to her expressive face. 
"Mamma, it is settled about the summer school. 
Miss McDonald is coming back. The school board 
say they can not afford to pay what Mr. Davis 
asks.” 

"I am very sorry — ” Mrs. Grant began, but 
Mrs. Kent’s decided voice interrupted her. 


Shadows 


59 


“Well, I ’m sure that ’s as it ought to be. Car- 
rie McDonald is a good girl, and I never did ap- 
prove of a young college boy setting up to teach 
school.” 

“Miss McDonald is nice,” Agnes admitted, 
“but, Aunt Mary, she can’t teach some things that 
Mr. Davis can. She said last summer that I had 
gone as far in grammar as she ever did. Then, 
I am studying algebra this winter, and I will have 
to drop that if Miss McDonald teaches.” 

Mrs. Kent laid down her knitting, and looked 
thoughtfully at Agnes. It was several minutes 
before she spoke, and when she did it was Mrs. 
Grant whom she addressed. 

“How is it, Helen? Has this child learned 
about all she can in your school?” 

The mother’s thin face flushed. “It sounds like 
boasting, Mary, but — ” 

“No, it is n’t boasting. We all know that Agnes 
is uncommon smart as far as books go. I ’m not 
saying but what I wish she had taken a turn for 
something else; but at the same time I am proud 
to know that at fourteen she ’s a match for Carrie 
McDonald. Now, Agnes, you go out in the 


6o 


Agnes Grant’s Education 


kitchen and help Jennie with the supper. I want 
to talk to your mother. You go ’long, too, Bertie, 
and be sure you shut the door.” 

The children obeyed. Agnes forgot her vex- 
ation, and merrily entertained her brother and sis- 
ter with an account of the day at school. 

Meanwhile silence had fallen between the two 
women. Mrs. Kent sat looking straight before 
her. Evidently she was trying to summon cour- 
age to perform a dreaded task. Mrs. Grant 
reached out one thin hand and laid it upon that 
of her guest. 

“Mary, you think I have not long to live, and 
there is something you wish to say to me.” 

Mrs. Kent started, but before she could speak 
the invalid went on : “Do not fear to speak plainly. 
Death has no terror for me. At first I could not 
think with calmness of leaving my children, but 
I have put them in God’s hands.” 

Notwithstanding Mrs. Kent’s abrupt ways, she 
had a kind heart, and was sincerely attached to 
Mrs. Grant. She wiped away a tear as she said : 

“I fear you are right, Helen, and, although I 
never had a child, I understand something how 
you feel. You know I have a little money of my 


Shadows 


6i 


own — money left me by Hiram Grant. I Ve al- 
ways intended to do something for one of your 
children. I wanted it to be Jennie, but that could 
not be. Arthur I never fancied, and as for Bertie, 
there can’t be anything done for him. So it must 
be Agnes.” 

She paused a moment, then continued : ^‘Helen, 
I ’m a plain-spoken woman, and I want you to 
know just how I feel. I ’m proud of Agnes’s smart- 
ness, but she is too much like her father really to 
suit me. But I ’ll take her next September, and 
send her to the Walters High School until she 
graduates.’^ 

Helen Grant sat up, her face flushed with eager 
pleasure. ^‘God bless you, Mary ! Do you know 
what that will mean to my child ? It will fit her for 
teaching, and enable her to care for herself. I can 
never thank you.” 

‘‘Do n’t try then,” but the pleased look in the 
gray eyes contradicted the ungracious words. “I 
will pay her tuition, buy her books, and, if her 
father can not furnish her with plain, comfortable 
clothes, I will. Of course, Helen, I shall expect 
her to help me, but will give her plenty of time 
to study. She can spend her vacations and Satur- 


62 


Agnes Grant’s Education 


days and Sundays at home. She will mind me, and 
not expect to dress as well as a rich man’s daugh- 
ter.” 

It would be hard to depict the joy of the Grants 
when, at the supper-table, Mrs. Kent’s generous 
offer was made known. Even Mr. Grant smiled, 
and proffered her a few formal words of thanks. 
Jennie clapped her hands with delight. Bertie 
grew pale at first. No one, not even his mother, 
knew how much he lived in the ideal world created 
for him by Agnes’s daily account of all she heard 
and saw. But Bertie had already learned to find 
his joy in the happiness of others, and when he 
thought of all this would mean to his sister, his 
heart swelled with delight. 

Agnes slipped from her place at table, and hur- 
ried round to her aunt’s side. ‘‘Dear Aunt Mary,” 
she whispered, “I can’t say half that is in my heart. 
I am not good and gentle like Jennie, but I will 
try and do just what you want me to. It means 
everything to me.” 

“Well, go back and eat your supper, then,” 
Mrs. Kent replied, not a little touched by the 
girl’s unusual meekness. “I guess we ’ll get along 
comfortably together.” 


Shadows 


63 


This unexpected good fortune made Agnes 
very happy for many days. It was not until her 
mother began rapidly to grow worse that the 
young girl roused herself from her day dreams. 

Dr. Miller looked grave when he was sum- 
moned to the side of the sick woman. 

‘Ts it the beginning of the end?” she asked, 
wearily. 

He bowed his head. ‘‘Yes, my friend, the end 
is approaching, and I am powerless.” 

A look of pain crossed her face. “If I could 
look once more into my boy’s face!” she mur- 
mured. The next instant the peace of perfect 
resignation looked from her eyes. “God will watch 
over him, and some glad day he will come home 
to me.” 

A few days after this Mr. Grant was prepar- 
ing to go to Walters. Bertie was going with him, 
and Jennie proposed that Agnes accompany them 
and select some print for needed dresses. 

Agnes consented gladly, thinking of the pleas- 
ant morning ride. Then she stood a moment 
irresolute. How brightly the sunlight fell over 
bursting buds and starting foliage! The robins 
would be seeking places for their nests all along 


64 Agnes Grant’s Education 


the road, and the breeze from the south would be 
sweet with the scent of the early flowers. Was this 
more to her than to Jennie? 

“You go, Jennie,” she said, coaxingly. “You 
have not been out of the yard for two weeks, and 
I can take care of mamma. Mamma, you tell her 
to go, and get a little color in her cheeks.” 

Mrs. Grant readily did this. Jennie demurred, 
but when, a half-hour later, the farm wagon drove 
off she was in it. 

“Shall I read to you, mamma?” Agnes asked, 
turning from the doorway, where she had watched 
the wagon and its occupants disappear over the 
crest of a hill. 

“Thank you, my daughter, but I would rather 
you would come here and sit by my side. There 
are many things I want to say to you, Agnes, 
and this may be the last time that you and I will 
ever be alone.” 

Quick tears blurred the sight of Agnes, but 
she quietly brought a low chair and took her place 
by her mother’s side. 

“I was glad to see your thoughtfulness about 
Jennie,” the weak voice went on. “Always re- 


Shadows 


65 

member what she has been to us all. Agnes, it 
now seems as if the burden of care and depriva- 
tion so early laid upon your sister is about to be 
spared you. God grant it may be so! And yet, 
dear, be careful that you do not allow yourself 
to forget her devotion, or let the new life open- 
ing before you separate you.” 

“O, mamma, I will never do that !” Agnes cried. 

“And Bertie,” the mother said, after waiting 
a little for strength. “You are his inspiration. 
Never fail him, my child. What my poor boy’s 
future will be is known only to our Heavenly 
Father. At best, little daughter, your brother 
must miss much of the sunshine of life ; how much 
you will both realize more fully as you grow older. 
Can I comfort myself in my dying hours with the 
thought that you will be to him in the future all 
you have been in the past?” 

Agnes had slipped from the chair to the floor. 
Twining her arms about her mother’s neck, she 
said in a voice broken by sobs: “Yes, dearest 
mother. I promise, and you know I will keep a 
promise made to you. Mamma, mamma, don’t 
talk about dying !” 


5 


66 Agnes Grant’s Education 


Mrs. Grant feebly drew Agnes’s head down on 
the pillow beside her own. “Darling, it will be 
only a little while before I will be at rest. Some 
day, when your work here is done, you will come 
to me. Do not grieve me by murmuring. Let 
me rest a little, for there is more I must say.” 

Agnes struggled bravely to keep back her sobs. 
A few moments went by in silence. Then a bird 
in the rosebush by the window poured out a flood 
of melody, and the sun, emerging from behind a 
cloud, sent his rays in at the casement and lighted 
the pain-worn face on the pillow with an unearthly 
radiance. 

Agnes longed to cry out, but was restrained 
by a remembrance of her mother’s weakness. For 
a moment an overpowering sense of loneliness 
swept over her. Then she cried to the God in 
whom her loved mother trusted. The cry of the 
sorrowing heart was answered. A sweet calm 
took possession of her. 

She rose and gently kissed her mother. “Lie 
still and rest a few moments. Then you can tell 
me the rest.” 

Mrs. Grant smiled feebly back into her daugh- 
ter’s face. Agnes lowered the curtain to keep the 


Shadows 


67 


sunlight from the sick woman’s eyes, and brought 
her a drink of fresh water. When all was done 
she went back to her chair, and sat softly stroking 
her mother’s hand. 

Suddenly Helen Grant opened her eyes. “I 
have strength for but a few more words, my dar- 
ling. They must be of your father and Arthur. 
Dear little daughter, it has grieved me sometimes 
to see in your nature something of your father’s 
impatience and distrust. He, your father, feels that 
Bertie’s lameness, Arthur’s conduct, and my illness 
are unjust. Agnes, you harbor a like fierce im- 
patience, thinking that had your father and brother 
done differently we might have been much hap- 
pier. Will you not try to be more patient with 
them? Follow Christ’s example. When our lives 
reflect his love, then shall we bring all men to him. 
I ask no promise, my child. The future holds much 
for you; I expect great things from you. But, 
Agnes, if in these days that are to come your 
father or brother try your patience, remember 
the mother who loves you so, who will love you 
as well then as now, entreats you to cultivate 
towards them the Christlike spirit.” 

Her voice died away, and the long lashes fell 


68 Agnes Grant’s Education 


over her eyes. The tears of Agnes dripped upon 
the hand she held. In a few minutes the labored 
breathing of the mother showed that she slept, 
and the daughter stole away to bury her face in 
the faded cushions on the lounge, and sob out 
the grief that rent her heart. 


CHAPTER V 


Bereavement. 



HE end came quickly. Three days later 


Agnes was awakened early one morning by 
her father gently shaking her arm, and calling 
her name. 

“Your mother is worse,’' he said, when the 
great dark eyes opened. “Come at once.” 

Hastily dressing, Agnes stole one quick glance 
through the window at the faint gray light that 
was creeping over the earth, and at the flush of 
rose-red in the east, then hurried downstairs. 

Mrs. Kent, a kind neighbor, Jennie, and Mr. 
Grant were all there. A moment more and Bertie 
came, the clicking of his crutches on the floor 
mingling strangely with the sobs of the watchers. 
Together they drew round the bed and waited. 

God was good. Like a tired child, Helen Grant 
turned on her pillow and closed her eyes. Fainter 
and fainter grew her breath until, without a moan. 


70 


Agnes Grant’s Education 


it ceased, and into the kingdom of the redeemed 
entered a blood-bought soul. 

Moved by a great pity for the bereaved family. 
Dr. Miller made every effort to get some trace of 
Arthur before his mother’s body was consigned to 
the earth. It was in vain. It seemed to the kindly 
physician that if Arthur Grant should stand by that 
still form, look into that placid face, and listen to 
the loving message left for him, his whole life must 
be changed. No trace of the erring one could be 
found, and, the third day after her death, the hands 
of true friends bore the body of the dead to its last 
resting-place. 

For a few days life seemed unbearable to them 
all. Then that love for each other, which was the 
ruling force within, began to assert itself, and they 
tried to be cheerful. Perhaps it was well that the 
duties of the household pressed upon them. Not 
only did occupation serve to awaken other 
thoughts, but work done for those whom she had 
loved and who had loved her was almost like work 
done for her. 

The children of Helen Grant heeded well the 
lessons of her last days. They did not think of 
their mother as gone forever from them, but as 


Bereavement 


71 


allowed to enter before them a land of freedom 
from pain and communion with God. This did 
not solace the husband. He would accept no com- 
fort. His grief was hugged to his breast, and he 
grew more silent and gloomy. 

It was decided that Agnes should attend the 
summer school^ even if the teacher was not as 
good as the one of the winter. Mr. Davis recom- 
mended this, and pointed out to Agnes the things 
she would need to fit her for high school. 

Three months after Mrs. Grant's death a long 
letter came from Miss Dunning. She had been 
teaching all the years since she bade them good- 
bye, although she wrote that the coming winter 
she was to be married. Her future husband was 
the instructor in Latin at Maynard College. This 
was a denominational college, and was situated in 
a small city, one hundred miles distant. 

“Now, isn't that splendid?" Agnes, who was 
reading the letter aloud, paused to ask. It was 
early in the morning, and Bertie had just brought 
the letter from the store, where he had gone on 
horseback for some needed articles. Jennie was 
churning in the shade of the house. She paused 
in her work, and looked at Agnes. 


72 


Agnes Grant’s Education 


The sleeves of Agnes's brown gingham dress 
were rolled above her elbows, for she had been 
engaged in washing the dishes when Bertie ar- 
rived. She was sitting on the grass, one foot 
doubled under her. As she looked up question- 
ingly, her face sparkled with delight. 

“Why, Agnes," Jennie cried, “I believe you are 
pretty !" 

It was so unexpected that Agnes could only 
stare. Bertie laughed merrily. This roused 
Agnes, and she said, with spirit : 

“You may laugh if you like. I may not be 
pretty, but some time I am going to college myself. 
Yes," she went on, nodding her head, “I believe 
I '11 be a college professor myself. Would n't you 
be a bit proud of me then?" she asked, archly, 
adding before any one could reply: “I would not 
be professor of Latin, though. I 'd rather teach 
history, or tell my pupils about the beautiful things 
in books." 

“Could n't you be professor of reading?" Bertie 
asked. He was always ready to enter into the 
most extravagant of Agnes's fancies. 

She laughed — a laugh as clear and sweet as 
the music of a wayside brook. “I do n't believe 


Bereavement 


73 


they have such a professor. What was it Mr. 
Davis used to tell about? Why can’t I think of 
that word?” tilting her head on one side and clos- 
ing her eyes. “I remember now — the professor of 
literature. Yes, that ’s what I am to be. Does it 
suit your honors?’* 

‘‘Very well, indeed,” Jennie said, a grave smile 
looking out of her eyes. “May I suggest to the 
future professor of literature that the grass is still 
too damp for her to sit upon it?” 

Agnes sprang up. “You old darling! You 
always remember everything. Well, when I enter 
upon my professorship you two shall have every- 
thing you want. Bertie, we ’ll build a dear little 
summer-house under the sweet-bough apple-tree, 
where we can read and have tea.” 

“Will you move Maynard College up here?” 
the boy asked, mischievously. “If not, you may 
have to stay there and hear classes instead of 
drinking tea in a summer-house.” 

“Do n’t be so prosy,” Agnes rejoined, airily. 
“I shall do the most romantic things — even wear- 
ing gowns and caps, like the pictures of the dons 
in that ‘Tom Brown at Oxford’ that Dr. Miller 
gave you last Christmas. But come, honored 


74 


Agnes Grant’s Education 


brother of the professor of literature in the College 
of Dreamland, if you will wait until said professor 
finishes washing the dishes and sweeps the state 
drawing-room, she will go with you over to the 
south meadow to hunt for meadow lilies/' 

Two weeks before the time for the commence- 
ment of school Mrs. Kent drove over in her neat 
carriage to learn what additions were necessary 
to Agnes’s wardrobe. Jennie had, however, by 
much economy and hard work, provided her sis- 
ter with a modest supply of plain clothing. Mrs. 
Kent nodded approvingly, and said : 

do n’t see but there is all she needs. I will 
buy her a pair of nice shoes, and when winter 
comes I will buy each of you girls a new cloak. 
I imagine, Jennie, you have had to do without 
’most everything in order to get these things.” 

Jennie had commenced to declare that she had 
all she needed, when Agnes interrupted her. 

“Yes, she has. Aunt Mary. If I ever get edu- 
cation enough so I can teach, I ’ll surely pay you 
all back for your goodness to me. It will take me 
a long time, though.” 

Before Mrs. Kent left it was arranged that 


Bereavement 


75 

Bertie should drive over early with Agnes Mon- 
day morning. 

“You can come after her Friday night,” Aunt 
Mary said to the boy in whose eyes she saw 
something of the pain the absence of his sister 
was going to cause him. “She can come home 
every week while the weather is good, if you 
can come after her and bring her back.” 

It was not yet eight o’clock on Monday morn- 
ing when Agnes bade Bertie good-bye at the gate 
of the neat home of the Kents. Both young voices 
faltered a little, but it was Bertie who managed 
to say : 

“Just think how much you will have to tell 
me Friday night. I shall come for you myself, 
and coax Jennie to come with me. Good-bye, 
Agnes.” 

She stood on tiptoe to kiss the pale face that 
bent down to her. Then Bertie turned the plump 
old gray, and drove off. Agnes hurried up the 
walk to the sitting-room door, the tears in her eyes 
making the carefully kept lawn apparently billow 
and swell around her. 

Mrs. Kent’s keen vision saw all this. “Take 


76 Agnes Grant’s Education 


your things upstairs/’ she said, cheerily. Ve 
fixed up the front room nice for you. I ’ll be up 
in a minute and show you where to put things.” 

Alone in the designated room, Agnes had time 
to wipe her eyes and gaze admiringly around her 
before she heard her aunt’s step at the door. 

“O Aunt Mary, how pleasant it is up here!” 
she cried. 

‘'Yes, I ’ve taken lots of pains with your room. 
I shall expect you to keep it in as good order as 
it is now,” Mrs. Kent said, impressively. 

Agnes’s cheeks reddened. She wondered if any 
one had told Aunt Mary how prone she was to 
leave things where she used them. Perhaps her 
aunt noticed her confusion. At all events, she 
went on kindly : 

“See, I ’ve emptied the drawers of this little 
bureau for you to use. And the new comb and 
brush on the washstand are yours. Then, that 
little table is for your books, and the rocking- 
chair is for you to sit in when you want to study 
up here. Never mind trying to put your things 
away now. The first bell will ring in five min- 
utes, and I asked Edith Thomas to come around 


Bereavement 


77 


this way and walk to school with you. There 
won’t be much but organizing classes this fore- 
noon. When you are dismissed, go down to 
Chambers’s and he is to let you have what books 
you need. There, Edith is coming now. I ’ll go 
down, and you come as soon as you get your 
hair smoothed.” 

When Agnes tripped down the stairs, and ap- 
proached the girl who was standing near the 
table, the first doubt of her perfect happiness at 
school assailed her. She had often heard her 
aunt speak of Edith Thomas, and knew her to 
be a year older than herself. 

Directly over the table near which Edith 
stood was a shelf, back of which a long, narrow 
mirror extended. In this Agnes saw two figures 
reflected. One was a plump, fair-faced girl whose 
brown hair was fashionably arranged, and sur- 
mounted by a small, flower-wreathed hat. Her 
dress of blue wool just cleared the floor, and her 
hands were incased in dainty gloves. The other 
figure was thin and angular, the heavy dark hair 
hanging in a massive braid, and the light print 
dress short and simply made. 


yS Agnes Grant’s Education 


Agnes bowed stiffly in response to her aunt’s 
introduction. Then, donning her wide-rimmed 
hat, she accompanied Edith down the walk and 
out through the gate. 

Mrs. Kent looked after them, a queer smile 
hovering around her lips. ‘Toor little thing!” 
she murmured as she went back to her work. 
‘'She is looking for fairy-land, and she will find 
things not at all as she expects. Everything 
will be new to her. She will be sick enough of 
it for a time, but she will soon get used to things. 
There is not a smarter girl than Agnes in Walters.” 

Meanwhile, as the girls were stepping briskly 
along, Edith was subjecting her companion to a 
lively but not unkind fire of questions concern- 
ing her former studies and her present aspira- 
tions. At the same time she was condescend- 
ingly imparting information about the Walters 
High School. 

“You ’ll be awfully homesick the first few 
weeks,” she rattled on. “All country pupils are. 
Professor Clark is nice, but a little poky. I do n’t 
like Miss Barr, the first assistant. Her great 
black eyes see straight through you. Miss West 
is lovely.” 


Bereavement 


79 

“Why, are there three teachers in the high 
school?” Agnes asked. 

“Yes, and we need another, but the School 
Board is too stingy. We 11 have to have an- 
other soon at any rate,” and, as Edith began 
ascending the steps, she nodded her head de- 
cidedly. 

Agnes followed her in silence. She was 
vaguely wondering if she would ever come to 
have such a sense of proprietorship in the school 
as Edith manifested. Then the sight of the 
strange faces thronging the halls and stairs caused 
her heart to beat faster. They were all strange. 
She was alone, awkward, and miserable. 

It was a hard forenoon for Agnes. She had 
been accustomed to being the first scholar, to be- 
ing considered by her schoolmates as something 
of a prodigy. Here it was plainly to be seen 
that she was only one among many, and one dis- 
tinguished by being unlike the others. She had 
given dress but little thought; now the contrast 
between her own attire and that of many of the 
other girls mortified her. There were some as 
simply dressed as herself, and Agnes had yet to 
learn that these were as popular as any. She 


8o 


Agnes Grant’s Education 


did not want to be considered inferior. That 
was what was hurting her, for Agnes was very 
proud. 

She looked eagerly at the teachers. Professor 
-Clark was a venerable man, with a calm, placid 
face, and a manner of kindly deference even 
toward the frightened girl to whom he spoke so 
kindly. Miss Barr was tall, stately, and Span- 
ish-looking. Miss West was a pretty, gray-eyed 
blonde, whose lace and ribbon-trimmed dress 
was in strong contrast with the severe plainness 
of Miss Barr’s black cashmere. 

It was Miss Barr who advised Agnes concern- 
ing the selection of studies and the choosing of a 
course. Her somber black eyes really seemed to 
possess the power ascribed to them by Edith 
Thomas. However, something in the panic- 
stricken face of Agnes strangely touched her. 
With rare tact she learned that the young girl 
hoped to fit herself for teaching, and, as she 
passed on, said kindly: 

‘T can not form a just estimate of your powers 
of application yet. Miss Grant. If you prove 
capable of what I think I may expect of you, 
you can complete your course in three years. 


Bereavement 


8i 


Some things you will have to make up; in others 
you are far in advance of the tenth grade/' 

Katherine Barr had sounded the right note. 
Agnes understood that what this proud-faced 
woman would expect of her would be untiring 
application and industry, but she did not shrink. 
From what seemed to the lonely child the 
serene heights of her own position, the teacher 
had reached down a hand to point the beginner 
in the race on the right way. 

It was a grave-faced and disappointed girl 
that took her place at Mrs. Kent's bountifully- 
spread dinner table. Aunt Mary knew that many 
of Agnes's ideals would be shattered, but, con- 
cluding that nothing but time could accustom the 
girl to her new position, wisely left her to herself. 
As for Mr. Kent, '‘Uncle Mark," the Grant chil- 
dren always called him, he was a kind but unob- 
serving old man who thought when he had placed 
on the plate of Agnes a generous supply of roast 
beef and mashed potatoes his whole duty by her 
was done. 

Agnes's pillow was wet with tears many times 
that week. She was shy, and the girls who had 
many friends did not notice her loneliness. The 

6 


82 


Agnes Grant’s Education 

passing to and from the recitation-rooms, the 
different modes of reciting, and the keen criticism 
she felt sure she was undergoing confused her, 
and made her still more awkward. 

Friday afternoon was the worst of all. She 
had gone back after dinner, a little cheered by 
the thought that in a few hours she would be in 
her own dear home. An unfortunate mistake 
made by her near the close of the session was 
followed not only by a half-suppressed titter from 
some of the pupils, but also by a few cutting words 
from Miss West. 

Agnes grew very pale. She held her head 
proudly aloft and swallowed back the lump in her 
throat. 

“I will never come back here,” she said to 
herself. Then she remembered what school meant 
to her, and she clinched her hands until the nails 
left dents in the brown palms. “Yes, I will come 
back,” she thought. “I ’ll win, too, but I will al- 
ways hate Miss West.” 

It was not chance that brought Miss Barr to 
the side of Agnes as the latter was hurrying out 
to the wardrobe after her hat. 

“You go home on Friday, do you not?” she 


Bereavement 


83 


asked. “Home! I envy you. I have no home 
now, and you will never know what that means 
while you are so blest as to have one. I shall 
look for you back on Monday, rested and ready 
for work. Good-bye.” 

Agnes bade Miss Barr good-bye with a feeble 
attempt at a smile. She hurried along the street 
and was delighed to find the well-known horse 
waiting at the gate for her. Bertie was the driver. 

Mrs. Kent knew that Agnes would not be 
willing to wait for supper. So on the basket of 
pears she sent Jennie she put a package of sand- 
wiches and cake, saying: 

“You can have a picnic on your way home.” 

Bertie asked no questions until they were well 
out of town. Then he turned an eager face to 
his sister, and said: “Well?” 


CHAPTER VI 


One Year in High School. 

BERTIE, it’s not a bit like what I thought 
it would be! I have been very unhappy, 
and sometimes it seems as if I could never go 
back. But I will, and I will stay and learn the 
things I do n’t know. I ’m going to tell you all 
about it; I couldn’t keep it from you. I am not 
going to tell Jennie, though. Poor sister! She 
worked so hard to get me ready for school, and 
now I am not going to spoil all her enjoyment. 
You don’t mind my telling you, do you, Bertie?” 

“Of course I want you to,” Bertie declared, 
stoutly. “Now, I do n’t believe it is half as bad 
as you think. I knew it would be different from 
the school at home, and that it would take you a 
few weeks to get used to it.” 

The cheery words of her brother did much to 
comfort Agnes. Life did not seem so dreary as 
they drove leisurely along the pleasant country 


One Year in High School 85 


road. On either side lay the level fieldsj bright 
with the early autumnal sunshine. The golden- 
rod hung out its banner of light along the road- 
side, and here and there among the foliage a 
glint of scarlet or gold proclaimed the end of 
summer’s reign. 

^'Perhaps I will like it better after a while,” 
the girl admitted, drawing a long breath of per- 
fect content. ‘‘At all events, I am unromantic 
enough to be hungry. I will untie Aunt Mary’s 
sandwiches, and we ’ll enjoy them along with my 
tale of woe.” 

There is a bit of truth in the adage that a 
troubled shared is a trouble lessened. When they 
reached home, and Agnes sprang lightly to the 
ground her face was bright. Jennie heard no 
worse complaint than: 

“It is different from our school, but I will get 
used to it after a little.” 

The going back Monday was hard. It was a 
white-faced girl with trembling lips that watched 
Bertie out of sight, and the memory of that pa- 
thetic face haunted the poor boy all the week. 
He suffered as keenly as did Agnes. Jennie never 
dreamed of this. Daily, almost hourly, Bertie 


86 Agnes Grant’s Education 


prayed that Agnes might have strength to bear 
the little vexing troubles that so annoyed her. 

In a few weeks the young girl became accus- 
tomed to the routine of school work. She had 
early determined to show her teachers and school- 
mates that she could have perfect recitations. 
This brought her the approval of both Professor 
Clark and Miss Barr, while Miss West, finding that 
the awkward pupil gave her no trouble, paid 
little attention to her. 

As Agnes became acquainted among the pupils 
she found friends. Her dress was really no 
plainer than that of some of the other girls, and, 
attaching little importance to this herself, she 
soon ceased to worry about it. Agnes was nat- 
urally of a merry, social nature. Her outlook 
on life was broadening, and the old, happy look 
came back to her eyes. 

She was truely grateful to Mrs. Kent. Yet 
there were times when the unsympathizing prac- 
ticalness of her aunt bore hard upon the spirit 
of Agnes. Mrs. Kent was unused to the pres- 
ence of a child, and Agnes would forget and leave 
her books on a chair, or wear her muddy rubbers 
in on the carpet. Then her aunt scolded. Agnes 


One Year in High School 87 


did not openly rebel, but she sometimes thought 
it unkind to make so much of what seemed to 
her trifles. 

At home there was little change. Mr. Grant 
was morose, and neglected the farm work. 
Consequently, the strictest economy was neces- 
sary. Jennie did all in her power to make the 
home a cheery place, and Bertie manfully sec- 
onded her efforts. Between those two there 
was perfect trust. Jennie felt that her brother, 
better than any other person, appreciated that 
she was giving her all to the family. 

Agnes spent the Christmas vacation at home. 
It was a happy time for them all. Jennie had 
managed to buy a few simple presents, and Mrs. 
Kent had been so pleased when Agnes begged 
that the gift intended for her should be given 
Jennie that she had allowed the young girl to 
select a new dress for her sister and a warm 
coat for Bertie. Mrs. Kent also gave Agnes a 
pretty cap. Dr. Miller brought Bertie a couple 
of new books. 

Bertie's lessons were not forgotten. He missed 
the daily help of Agnes, but thereby learned to 
depend on his own exertions. As soon as Agnes 


88 


Agnes Grant's Education 


finished a book he began upon it. Every Satur- 
day she spent several hours with him, going over 
what he had learned through the week. This was 
of as much value to Agnes as to Bertie, for it 
served to fix in her mind the lessons learned. 

The school year glided by. Agnes did not like 
Miss West, and resented the teacher’s evident 
curiosity concerning herself. As Agnes had be- 
come a general favorite among the pupils. Miss 
West determined to cultivate her. 

‘T hope you go to Church every Sunday, 
Agnes,” she began, in a condescending way one 
pleasant May evening when she overtook Agnes 
on the street. 

The girl’s sunny face flushed. ^Why do you 
hope that ?” she asked, coldly. 

"‘Why, because it ’s the proper thing to do. I 
hope you have not acquired any of Miss Barr’s 
wicked skeptical views. You ought to be a Chris- 
tian, Agnes, like Professor Clark and myself.” 

A fierce anger took possession of Agnes. ‘T 
love Miss Barr,” she said, defiantly. “I do not 
want to be the kind of a Christian that will say 
hateful things about a person whom I pretend 
to be a friend to,” and, having reached the store 


One Year in High School 89 


to which her aunt had sent her, Agnes hurried 
in, her face scarlet with anger. 

Better thoughts came to her that same even- 
ing when she was alone in her room. Outside a 
faint new moon hung low in the west, and the 
air seemed all alive with the quickening power of 
early spring. Agnes sat down on the floor, and 
laid her head on the window-sill. 

“Why did I not tell her I was trying to be a 
Christian like Christ?’’ she thought, sadly. “Dear 
Savior, forgive me for thinking so wickedly about 
Miss West! I am always so vexed if one I love 
is spoken ill of. I do n’t believe Miss Barr is a 
skeptic, although I have heard it said before.” 

The next day Agnes did a brave thing. At in- 
termission she went straight to Miss West’s 
desk, and said to her : 

“Miss West, it was wrong for me to speak to 
you as I did last night. I am trying to be a 
Christian. Please forgive my hasty words.” 

Lilian West looked at the young girl curiously. 
“I suppose I must forgive you now that you have 
asked me. Of course, you were afraid I would 
report you. If you are more careful there will 
be no trouble.” Agnes turned away, peace in 


90 


Agnes Grant’s Education 


her heart, and a faint smile on her lips. How 
little Miss West understood her! Miss Barr had 
only to look in the eyes of Agnes to read her in- 
most thoughts. 

‘‘Can you not come to my room after tea, 
Agnes?” Miss Barr asked one afternoon, as the 
pupils of the high school were trooping out 
through the hall. 

Agnes nodded merrily. Miss Barr had kindly 
offered to lend her some books for the long sum- 
mer vacation. The teacher had long before 
learned all about Bertie and Jennie. 

Mrs. Kent’s consent to the call was somewhat 
grudgingly given. She looked with disapproval 
upon Miss Barr’s seclusion from Walters society, 
and readily credited the rumor regarding the 
young teacher’s skeptical views. 

The joy of Agnes was too great for her to heed 
the ungracious look of her aunt. Fifteen min- 
utes later she was gently rapping upon the half- 
open door of Miss Barr’s sitting-room. 

Katherine occupied two pleasant rooms in the 
home of a quiet widow. Here she had surrounded 
herself with many mementos of her old home. 
The eyes of Agnes went wandering in uncon- 


One Year in High School 91 

cealed delight around the long, low room. It 
was not upon the tasteful carpet, curtains, or easy- 
chairs that her gaze rested. The low oaken cases, 
filled with choice books; the open piano, the fine 
pictures, the broad couch, heaped with pretty 
cushions, and the cut-glass vase, filled with half- 
open pink rosebuds — all these things seemed to 
Agnes to be a part of a life that she recognized as 
strangely familiar to her. 

At last her eyes came back to her hostess. 
Miss Barr wore a dainty pink house-dress, very 
unlike her usual somber attire. Her heavy 
black hair was braided low on the neck. She 
came close to Agnes, and, taking both the girl’s 
hands in her own, kissed the flushed cheek with 
much tenderness. 

‘T know just what you are thinking of,” she 
said, her eyes growing soft and luminous. *‘You 
are planning how some day you will have a room 
just like this for Jennie and Bertie to enjoy with 
you.” 

Agnes laughed softly. “You are a witch, I 
really believe, dear Miss Barr. That is exactly 
what I was thinking of ; and I mean it too.” 

Some passing thought blotted out the light 


92 


Agnes Grant’s Education 


from the teacher’s face. “I hope when that day 
comes, little girl, that you may have your loved 
ones to share your happiness. May it be a long, 
long time before you know the sadness of bear- 
ing both your joys and sorrows alone.” 

“Are you all alone in the world. Miss Barr?” 
Agnes asked, impulsively. “I never hear you 
speak of your home, or any relatives.” 

“My parents died ten years ago. I was not 
alone then, for Eloise — ” She stopped, and, 
after looking steadily into Agnes’s eyes for a time, 
added : “Come with me.” 

She led the way to the adjoining room, which 
proved to be her sleeping-room. Pausing before 
a picture veiled with soft white silk, she went 
on: “I hardly know why I am showing you this, 
but — ” And she drew aside the curtain, revealing 
the portrait of a beautiful girl of ten. 

The face was dimpled and colored with perfect 
health. The features were regular, the eyes gray 
and long-lashed, and the abundant hair a pale 
yellow. 

“Is she your sister?” Agnes asked, her gaze 
riveted on the lovely face. 


One Year in High School 93 

“She was,” Miss Barr replied, in a hard, dry- 
voice. “She was only two years old when our 
parents died, and the will said we were not to be 
parted. I was twelve then. Upon Eloise I lav- 
ished all the love I had to give. There was money 
enough to hire a woman to keep the house and 
care for the baby, so we staid on at the old 
home until I graduated from the high school. I 
was to attend the normal, and I begged so hard 
to take Eloise with me that our guardian con- 
sented. Three years ago, the spring before I grad- 
uated from there, I went home with a friend, who 
lived at some distance, to stay over Sunday. At 
two, Monday morning, a telegram came : ‘Come at 
once. Eloise is ill with diphtheria.’ Owing to the 
trains not connecting, I did not reach home till 
nine. O, the awfulness of those hours ! I prayed, 
I begged God to spare me my darling, or at least 
to let me receive her dying kiss. Well, my prayers 
were not answered. She died fifteen minutes be- 
fore I reached the house.” 

Agnes’s tears were falling, but the eyes of her 
companion were dry and burning. With hands 
clasped before her, Katherine Barr stood, look- 


94 


Agnes Grant’s Education 


ing hungrily at the smiling face of the child. Sud- 
denly she stretched out her arms, and a cry of 
agony broke from her lips. 

''O, Eloist, my darling, my darling ! If I could 
see you!’’ 

The utter hopelessness of the cry went to the 
heart of Agnes. She threw her arms round Kath- 
erine, saying: 

“It will be only a little while, dear Miss Barr. 
Eloise is waiting for you. Think how much it 
means to have some one waiting for you. How 
good God was to give you such a sweet sister!” 

“Why, then, did he take her? — ” 

Agnes had drawn the head of the other down 
upon her shoulder, and she stopped the wild words 
with a kiss. “He did not take Eloise away from 
you.” And into the young girl’s tone crept an 
assurance that unconsciously soothed Katherine. 
“I have never lost my precious mother. She has 
just gone on before the rest of us. We can not 
lose the people we love out of our hearts. Christ 
is our dear Elder Brother, and he loves you even 
more than you loved Eloise. Would you have 
done anything to make her unhappy? Yet there 
must have been times when you could not give her 


One Year in High School 


95 


what she wanted, because you were wiser, and saw 
that it would not be for her real good. O, Miss 
Barr, I know what makes your eyes so sad! It 
is because you are not trusting Eloise with Jesus.’’ 

The proud face softened, and a passion of sobs 
shook the slender form. Agnes did not try to 
check the tears, but gently stroked the black hair 
and waited. 

When Miss Barr’s sobs ceased, and she tried 
to raise her head, Agnes bent her own cheek down 
to the pale one of her friend. “Please, Miss Barr, 
will you not try to think that Jesus loves both 
Eloise and yourself?” 

A short silence, then Katherine said: “You 
have done me good, child. Your words have 
meant more to me than any to which I have ever 
listened. I have always felt that my darling was 
lost to me forever. I — well, Agnes, do not ask 
me to promise, but I will think about what you 
said. Now I will bathe my face, and we will 
choose the books for which you came.” 

Agnes dared say no more. She began to un- 
derstand many things that had before puzzled her. 
She accompanied Miss Barr back to the other 
room. Her eyes sparkled as she sat down before 


g6 Agnes Grant’s Education 

a table piled high with books, and she moved one 
hand caressingly over the volumes. 

“These I laid out for you,’' Miss Barr said. 
“They are: ‘Little Women,’ ‘Little Men,’ and 
‘Jo’s Boys.’ I do not want you to miss making 
the acquaintance of Miss Alcott. To know and 
love her is the birthright of every American girl.” 

Agnes laughed gleefully. “I know her a little. 
Dr. Miller gave Bertie ‘Jack and Jill.’ He — 
Bertie, I mean — will be so delighted with the 
books. It is so good in you to loan them to me.” 

“They are not all to be stories,” and Miss 
Barr have the hand of Agnes a loving pat. “Here 
are three volumes of history, one of Longfellow’s 
poems. Lamb’s ‘Tales from Shakespeare,’ and a 
bound volume of the Century Magazine. The three 
remaining needed to complete the dozen you may 
select from the second shelf of the case.” 

What a delightful fifteen minutes that was ! It 
was difficult to choose from such wealth, but Miss 
Barr smiled approval when the selection was made. 
“Ivanhoe,” “David Copperfield,” and Tennyson’s 
“Idyls of the King,” were the books chosen. 

“I will pack them in a box, and you can call 
for them to-morrow night when your brother 


One Year in High School 


97 


comes after you/^ Miss Barr said. Then she added 
gravely: “These books read and talked over can 
not but be a mental stimulus to you all. I hope, 
Agnes, you will not forget to include Jennie in the 
reading. Do not think I am finding fault with 
you ; but, dear, I fear you do not always remember 
how lonely her life is. The future does not hold 
as much promise for her as for you.’^ 

“Perhaps you are right,’’ Agnes replied, 
thoughtfully. “Jennie is always doing for us. It 
may be we expect too much of her. Yet I really 
love her, and I am sure she knows it.” 

“Do n’t look so sober over it, little girl. Come, 
let me show you my pictures.” 

After a pleasant half-hour, Agnes bade her 
friend good-night. 

“What strange tie binds you to me, you un- 
canny little lassie?” Katherine asked, holding the 
girl’s face between her hands, and studying the 
quickly-changing expression. Then her eyes grew 
dim, and she drew Agnes closer in her arms. “I 
do not understand it, dear. Por three years I have 
not spoken as freely as to you at this time. The 
cruel grasp that held my lonely heart so close is 
loosened. You have helped me, Agnes. Good- 
7 


98 Agnes Grant’s Education 


night, and may all your years be crowned with 
life’s choicest blessings !” 

School closed the next week. There was no 
further opportunity for confidential conversation 
between the two who were so strongly attracted 
to each other. Katherine was to spend the vaca- 
tion with an aunt, but would return to Walters 
at the beginning of the next school year. 


CHAPTER VII 


Bertie’s Faith 


«TT is so jolly to have you home for ten long 

weeks \” Bertie cried on the first morning after 
the close of school. '‘Now we wiU be just as 
happy as we can be.” 

Agnes was disappointed with herself that her 
heart did not echo her brother’s words. For the 
first time she understood that the new life had 
partly taken the place of the old. She could not 
help contrasting the silver, linen, and china of 
Mrs. Kent’s table with the red cotton tablecloth, 
the cheap dishes, and the steel knives and forks. 

A wave of indignation swept over her. “I am 
a wicked girl,” she thought, and, hurrying around 
to Jennie’s side, she threw both arms round her 
sister’s neck. 

“Go sit down, Jennie,” she cried, “and let me 

do all the work. You do everything for me, as 

well as my share of the work for papa and Bertie. 

Do go and rest ; I will do the work to-day.” 

L.crC. ^ 


loo Agnes Grant’s Education 

Jennie laughed, a merry little laugh in which 
there was a note of fervent thanksgiving; for the 
loving recognition of her service was very sweet 
to her. 

“It would be fine,” she said, unclasping Agnes’s 
hands, and carrying them to her lips, “for me to 
sit still and let you do all the Saturday’s work. 
We have bread and pies to bake, the kitchen floor 
to scrub, and butter to work and pack. You can 
help me ; we can work together. Concerning what 
I do for you, Agnes,” she went on in a graver 
tone, “remember it is done gladly. The time may 
come when you must care for some of us, and to 
do it you may have to give up your most cherished 
plans.” 

The face of Agnes grew thoughtful. “If that 
time ever does come, I would try — O, I really 
would, Jennie ! — to do my duty. But I fear I could 
not do it as you do. Why is it so much easier 
for you to be good than it is for me ?” 

Jennie smiled, but Bertie noticed that a quick 
sigh followed the smile. It was a moment before 
the elder sister spoke. Then she said pleasantly: 

“I do not think it easier for me to be good 
than it is for you; neither do I think I am better. 


Bertie’s Faith 


lOI 


Still, I am seven years older, and we learn much 
in seven years.” 

Then she began clearing away the remains of 
the breakfast, and the conversation drifted to 
lighter subjects. 

Bertie referred to it a few days later. He and 
Agnes had gone to the orchard after a basket of 
harvest apples. 

“You are both as good as gold, while I am — 
well, you remember Tom Sidley used to tell about 
things being ^mean as dirt.’ That describes me.” 

The sudden transition from impatience to peni- 
tence, and then to mirth was too common an 
occurrence to occasion Bertie any surprise. He 
said: 

“You are our Agnes — ^the best and dearest girl 
in the world. But the reason you are different, 
or, rather, the reason we are not alike is — ^Jesus.” 

He pronounced the name with a tender rever- 
ence. Agnes looked at him in wonder. 

“What do you mean, Bertie?” 

“Why, it ’s something like this — ^Jesus is a 
Teacher to you.” 

“A teacher?” 

“Yes. You love him with a love that is a little 


102 Agnes Grant’s Education 

like that you give Professor Clark. You are 
afraid of him, and when you do wrong he seems 
a long way off. To Jennie he is a Helper. She 
takes his help, but she is afraid the things she 
does for him are so small he does not see them. 
I can never know much about the joy of doing 
for Christ,” and the lad laid one hand signifi- 
cantly upon the crutches near him, “so to me he 
is a Friend. All I can do is to love him. Agnes, 
that means so much to me that sometimes I for- 
get that I am a poor cripple.” 

As Agnes had to carry the basket — for Bertie’s 
crutches occupied both hands — he insisted on their 
sitting down to rest before they quitted the or- 
chard for the lane. 

Agnes threw her gingham sunbonnet down by 
the basket, and lying back on the grass, clasped 
her hands behind her head, and stared up through 
the dancing leaves to the cloudless summer sky. 
Bertie watched her in silence. His love for this 
bright-faced sister was a part of his life. She 
gave him a more satisfying sense of companionship 
than any other person, yet he could see her faults. 

“Agnes,” he said, “I believe I can tell you why 
it is easier for Jennie to be good than it is for you.” 


Bertie’s Faith 


103 

The color in Agnes’s pink cheek deepened. 
She sat up and looked sharply at her brother. 
'‘You think she is better, then?” she asked, a note 
of discord in her voice. 

"In some ways, yes. She does not try any 
harder ; it ’s different — that ’s all. I am more like 
Jennie. It is n’t so hard for me to be good, but 
my good is n’t half so good as hers or yours,” 
and he smiled up trustingly in his sister’s face. 

She had opened her lips for an angry retort. 
Something in the sweet, confiding face turned to 
her changed her mood. 

The eyes of Agnes were brimming over with 
tears. She bent forward and hid her face among 
Bertie’s curls. 

"If he was not my Friend I should be afraid 
when I think of all the years to come,” he went 
on. "Now I know, no matter what happens, he 
will be with me and love me.” 

For a short time there was no sound save the 
half-suppressed sobs of Agnes. Then Bertie said 
cheerily : 

"Don’t cry, dear. Jennie will be waiting for 
the apples. I have preached you quite a sermon.” 

Many times during the years that brought to 


104 Agnes Grant’s Education 

Agnes their joys and sorrows did her mind revert 
to Bertie’s sermon. 

The books so kindly loaned by Miss Barr did 
much to make the days of the summer vacation 
pleasant. Notwithstanding her love for her home 
and its inmates, Agnes was glad when the first of 
September came, and she returned to Walters. 

The beginning of her second school year was 
very different from that of her first. Agnes had 
an assured place among her young friends. Edith 
was a merry girl, and, although Agnes could not 
help thinking her vain, they spent many happy 
hours together. Our heroine’s most valued friend 
was Mabel Crandal, a girl a year her senior, but 
in the same class. 

Mabel was the only daughter of a widow. 
Mrs. Crandal had two sons — Paul, a high-school 
student a year in advance of his sister, and 
Donald, who was studying law at the State Uni- 
versity. Sometimes Jennie sighed a little when 
her sister gave her a rapturous account of the 
elegance and beauty of the Crandal home. She 
feared Agnes must be vexed by the difference be- 
tween this and her own surroundings. 

The most potent force, however, in shaping 


Bertie’s Faith 


105 

the character of Agnes Grant was Katherine Barr. 
Not even the most jealous eye could discern any 
favoritism in class. Indeed, Agnes often felt that 
her teacher exacted more of her than of any other 
pupil. This very exaction served to spur the girl 
on to greater exertion, and she progressed rapidly. 
She was often invited to Miss Barr’s pleasant par- 
lor, spending many delightful hours reading aloud, 
or listening to Katherine read. 

Miss Barr was not a skeptic, neither was she 
a Christian. She never sought to discuss religious 
matters with Agnes, but the girl knew that her 
own trust in God was respected by her friend. 

They mutually benefited each other. From her 
teacher Agnes learned much of the wealth of the 
world’s literature, and an appreciation of and a 
desire for the truly beautiful. In turn, she gave 
Katherine faith in loving, struggling humanity, 
and a far-away reverence for the God from whom 
the stricken girl had turned almost in anger. 

The greatest trouble of Agnes during her 
second year in the high school was Bertie. A 
severe cold contracted in the autumn made great 
ravages on his slender store of strength. He never 
complained, but talked hopefully of the time when 


io6 Agnes Grant’s Education 

he would be better. As his face grew thinner 
there came into it more and more of a strange 
radiance that seemed not of earth. Often, after 
looking at her brother, Agnes could not bring 
herself to meet Jennie’s eyes. When Agnes went 
to Dr. Miller, and begged him to tell her the 
truth, he assured her there was no immediate 
danger. 

“Bertie will be better when summer comes,” 
he said, confidently. “Still, Agnes, I will not con- 
ceal from you the fact that he has not grown 
stronger with the passing of years, as I hoped he 
would. We must take the best care of him, you, 
Jennie, and I.” 

Mr. Grant saw his son’s increasing feebleness. 
Of all his children there was none so dear to him 
as this frail boy who looked into his father’s face 
with his mother’s eyes. A great tenderness for 
his son welled up in the proud man’s heart. This 
he hid, seeming to grow harder and more defiant. 

“If I had money, and could take him South, 
he would regain his strength,” he would say to 
himself. “It is unjust that the lives of my chil- 
dren should be so shadowed,” and in the dark 
eyes a baleful light would glow. 


Bertie’s Faith 


107 

Jennie grieved over the wall of reserve her 
father was building between himself and his chil- 
dren. He was never unkind, but he endeavored 
to withdraw himself from them and their amuse- 
ments. Both she and Bertie tried to interest him 
in books and the out-door world. Agnes appeared 
more indifferent. It really hurt her more than 
the others, for, mingled with her pain was an un- 
reasoning anger. She could not have told what 
she was angry at, only it seemed as if things might 
so easily have been made better. 

The words of Bertie, spoken under the apple- 
tree, were true. There were times when the Christ 
whom Agnes served seemed far away. She cher- 
ished a conviction that she must herself conquer 
the evil of her own nature; Bertie g^ve himself 
unreservedly into the hands of his Friend, and 
freely accepted from him limitless peace. 

The year passed quickly. Vacation, too, was 
uneventful. Agnes read and studied with Bertie, 
and helped Jennie with the work. She even as- 
sumed the entire care of the house for a week, 
and Jennie went with Mrs. Kent to visit relatives 
who lived in a distant part of the State. 

It was Jennie^s first real vacation for years. 


io8 Agnes Grant’s Education 


She came back brighter, and apparently several 
years younger. Aunt Mary had never hidden the 
fact that Jennie was her favorite of the Grant chil- 
dren. The girl’s housewifely tastes, as well as her 
gentle, self-sacrificing nature had greatly endeared 
her to Mrs. Kent. She was proud of the rapid 
advancement of Agnes, and boasted not a little 
of what she called the girl’s ‘‘smartness.” At the 
same time Aunt Mary was often sorely tried by 
Agnes’s devotion to books, and her passionate love 
for the beautiful. 

“I do n’t know what kind of a woman she will 
make,” she admitted to Mrs. Davis, her friend 
and confidant. “There are times when I feel 
afraid.” 

“I would not worry about that,” was Mrs. 
Davis’s reply. “She will be all right. Agnes is 
a good girl, and she is wonderfully clever.” 

“Yes, I know there are few smarter girls in 
Walters than Agnes Grant,” Mrs. Kent said, a 
certain grim pride in her protegee coming to the 
surface. “Now, I must admit, though, she is dif- 
ferent from other girls. Of course, I ’m glad 
she attends to her books. I do n’t just approve 
of school teaching; there didn’t seem to be any 


Bertie's Faith 


109 

other way for Agnes to earn her living. Still, 
it is n’t necessary for her to be so carried away 
with a book. She will forget everything over 
one, and when she has finished it I would 
rather hear her tell it than read it myself. Some- 
how, she lives everything. She ’s proud, too, and 
cares the most for pretty things. Not to wear, I 
do n’t mean ; she will wear the plainest dress, and 
rave over the sunset. And she ’s ambitious. 
Sometimes I think she expects to be President. 
She would work for it, though, for there is not 
a single lazy hair in her head. She ’s different 
from most girls, and I do n’t know what to make 
of her.” 

While Agnes was grateful to her aunt her 
sensitive nature keenly felt the lack of sympathy 
that marked their intercourse. Then she chafed 
under Mrs. Kent’s vigorous rule, for she was very 
exacting concerning the work. Agnes did not 
then realize it, but this had been good discipline, 
and had done much to give her the mastery over 
her quick tongue. She had never openly rebelled 
at any command of her aunt’s. It was the greatest 
victory over self that she had ever won. 

On the first day of school Mrs. Kent said some 


I lO 


Agnes Grant’s Education 


sharp things about a new dress that Jennie had 
bought for her sister. 

'‘You could have got along without it,” she re- 
marked, tartly. “It's very pretty, and all that, 
but I should have thought you 'd have remembered 
Jennie's shabby old gray flannel that would have 
been her best, if I hadn't bought her the black 
cashmere. There is no use, Agnes, of your trying 
to dress like Mabel Crandal. Jennie is a slave 
to you as it is.'' 

Mrs. Kent was accustomed to seeing Agnes 
compress her lips, and remain silent. However, 
she was not prepared for the burst of tears that 
followed her words. 

“Why, what are you crying for?'' she de- 
manded, her voice unconsciously growing softer. 

“O, Aunt Mary, if you would only believe that 
I love and honor Jennie. I told her I could get 
along without this dress, but she thought, as it 
was my Senior year, I would need a little more 
than last year. Why must girls fuss so much about 
clothes? I do love Jennie, and I wish she had this 
dress instead of me.'' And Agnes looked sadly at 
her pretty crimson serge, her pleasure in it all 
gone. 


Bertie’s Faith 


1 1 1 


Mrs. Kent’s face softened. “Well, I didn’t 
mean to be cross.^’ And Agnes knew this was a 
great concession for her aunt to make. “I be- 
lieve you do think lots of Jennie, only it makes 
me almost wild when I see her so cheerfully giv- 
ing up all chances for happiness. There, do n’t 
cry any more. If Jennie needs anything I ’ll see 
about it.” 

The pupils had not expected Miss West to re- 
turn, but she was in her accustomed place. There 
was some grumbling, for she was not popular. 
Agnes openly expressed her dissatisfaction. 

“However, I can stand it as long as I have my 
dear Miss Barr,” she concluded, airily, one morn- 
ing, when a group of girls were discussing the mat- 
ter in the hall. 

Just then the teachers in question passed 
through the hall, and, as the eyes of Katherine 
Barr and Agnes met, a sympathetic glance passed 
between them. Miss West vaguely felt that she 
had been the subject of discussion. Her suspicious 
nature leaped to the conclusion that Katherine 
sanctioned the somewhat unkind things she knew 
Agnes had said. 

Miss West bit her lip. “I wish I could be re- 


1 1 2 Agnes Grant’s Education 

venged on them all,” she thought. “Miss Barr 
is so insufferably distant and haughty, I could 
reach her best through Agnes, and I have always 
disliked that pert girl. We ’ll see. Time may 
yet bring me an opportunity to get even with 
them.” 

Bertie had been stronger through the summer. 
All the family dreaded the effect of winter upon 
him, and wished they might prolong the beauti- 
ful days of autumn. He carried on his studies 
as usual, apparently more anxious than ever to 
acquire knowledge. 

Soon after school began, on Jennie’s invita- 
tion, Miss Barr went home with Agnes, and re- 
mained over Sunday. Agnes had never practiced 
any secrecy regarding their poverty, yet she 
shrank from the entrance of Katherine into their 
home. There was no doubting the genuine enjoy- 
ment of the teacher. 

When Agnes began a half-apology for some- 
thing, the other silenced her by saying: 

“Do n’t talk about poverty. Ah, child, I would 
give up everything, I would be content with a 
crust and rags could I but see on the face of one 
of my own kin the devoted love that the faces of 


Bertie’s Faith 


113 


your brother and sister express for you. I think 
you are a rich girl, Agnes.” 

Bertie heard these words, and his quick eyes 
noted the quivering of the lips. He sat lost in 
thought, until Miss Barr’s voice recalled him to 
a realization of her presence. 

‘'Of what are you thinking so intently?” she 
asked. And then he saw they were alone, his 
sisters having gone to the kitchen to prepare 
supper. 

“I was thinking of what you said,” he re- 
sponded, brightly. “I never understood just how 
rich I was. Thank you for telling me. I am sorry 
you have no brother or sister, but you have the 
dear Elder Brother, and he is so much.” 

As Katherine’s eyes rested on the glowing face 
of the boy, a sudden sense of longing came to her. 
‘T fear, Bertie, I have not that as you have. Is he 
so much to you?” 

"Yes,” the lad replied, slowly. "He is always 
here,” laying one hand upon his heart. "Do n’t 
you think. Miss Barr, he must be a great deal to 
me, when his presence makes life a delight to me, 
in spite of those ?” And he pointed to the crutches, 
which leaned against the lounge. 

8 


1 14 Agnes Grant’s Education 


It was the most forcible presentation of Jesus 
as a living, loving Friend that had come before 
Katharine Barr. The tears, so seldom seen in 
her proud eyes, dimmed their sight. She leaned 
forward, and, for a moment, laid her hand upon 
that of the crippled boy. Then she rose, and 
walked to the window. Before she turned to the 
room again Agnes entered, and the conversation 
with Bertie was not continued. 


CHAPTER VIII 


An Unjust Accusation 

O NE day late in October when Agnes re- 
turned from dinner she found a note on her 
desk. Opening it, she found it to be a request 
from Professor Clark that she come to his office 
for a few minutes immediately after dismissal. 

Agnes reread the brief missive before she laid 
it down, a puzzled look upon her face. The re- 
quest was not a strange one ; there might be many 
reasons for the superintendent’s wishing to speak 
to her. There was a shade of coolness about the 
note that affected the mercurial Agnes unpleas- 
antly. 

Professor Clark was very gentle and consid- 
erate of the happiness of his pupils. He was 
somewhat visionary, and lacked Miss Barr’s tact- 
ful power to rouse in the learner’s mind a craving 
for knowledge. Agnes was a favorite of his, and 
he often predicted that her future life would be a 
useful one. 

115 


1 1 6 Agnes Grant’s Education 


As soon as the afternoon session was dismissed 
Agnes hurried to the office of Professor Clark. 
Her light rap upon the door brought an invitation 
for her to enter. 

Professor Clark was sitting at a small writing- 
table. The window behind him was open, and 
the vividly colored foliage on a hill not far away 
made a background of crimson and gold for his 
fine head and silvery beard. The thought of the 
connection between the perfect autumnal day and 
the ripe fullness of the old man’s life was dis- 
pelled from the mind of Agnes when she observed 
the look of pain so plainly depicted upon the pro- 
fessor’s countenance. 

‘‘Are you ill, Professor Clark?” she asked, 
eagerly advancing to his side. 

“No, thank you, I am not ill. Please be 
seated,” and he pointed to a chair near the door. 

Agnes sat down and gazed questioningly at her 
teacher. When their eyes met — hers so clear and 
trusting — a strange pallor swept over his face. He 
turned aside his head, and remained silent for a 
moment. 

“Agnes” — his voice was tremulous — “I trust 
you may never know what it costs me to say 


An Unjust Accusation iiy 

what I feel I must. I have never found the book 
you told me you placed on my desk two weeks ago, 
and the most careful inquiries fail to corroborate 
your story.’’ 

Agnes sat bolt upright, her hands clasped in 
her lap, her breath coming in quick gasps. Did 
he mean that her story was not true ? 

She had become much interested in Shakes- 
peare, and had prepared a paper on Cordelia for 
a meeting of the high-school literary society. 
Knowing her delight in her subject, the professor 
had loaned her a magnificently bound copy of 
‘‘King Lear,’’ suggesting that a careful study of 
the many illustrations might help her to a better 
understanding of the character of Cordelia. 
Agnes’s appreciation of the beautiful book had 
greatly pleased the old man, and he had told her 
that it had been a present from a well-loved sister 
who had been dead several years. After enjoying 
the treasure for ten days she brought the book 
to the schoolhouse one day when she returned 
from dinner. Professor Clark not being at his 
desk, she had left the volume there. When, a few 
minutes later, she saw him enter the room she told 
him what she had done. 


1 1 8 Agnes Grant’s Education 


All these details passed rapidly through hjer 
mind. The professor was speaking, and the blood 
throbbed so at her temples that it was difficult for 
her to follow his words. 

''Before I reached my desk that day I had for- 
gotten what you told me, and did not recall it 
until I had reached my home. I thought the book 
would be perfectly safe. The next morning, in a 
hurried search, I failed to find it. You may re- 
member I told you this before.” 

"Yes, sir,” Agnes replied, in a trembling voice, 
"and we concluded you must have overlooked it, 
because I had wrapped the book in a newspaper 
to guard against the cover becoming soiled. I 
told you, too, that Miss West was at your desk 
looking for her Latin Grammar, which had been 
mislaid, and that I talked with her about your 
book.” 

There was a brief pause, then Agnes went on 
hurriedly: "I never asked you about it, because 
I supposed you could not fail to find it. I do not 
see how it could be lost. Professor Clark, what 
did you mean when you spoke about failing to 
corroborate my story?” 

The old man turned his face to the window for 


An Unjust Accusation 119 

a moment. When he again confronted the agi- 
tated girl his lips were tightly compressed. 

^When I did not find ‘King Lear/ I asked 
Miss West if she remembered seeing the book. 
To my great surprise she emphatically denied see- 
ing you at my desk or your ever speaking to her 
of the matter. I have had the building thoroughly 
searched, but failed to find any trace of the missing 
book. Then — ” he paused, his voice hoarse with 
emotion. 

Agnes was very pale. Her eyes gleamed like 
live coals, but her head was proudly erect, and 
her voice rang out defiantly: “Is there anything 
more ?” 

“Only that Miss West reluctantly admitted 
that you once borrowed a book of her and never 
returned it. Also that there have been many 
complaints this year about the strange disappear- 
ance of handkerchiefs, pencils, and such trifles.” 

“You believe these things of me. Professor 
Clark! You think I am a thief! Where is Miss 
West? Let her face me with this wicked story.” 

Professor Clark rose wearily to his feet. “I 
will call her. But, Agnes, dear child, I have 
loved you. Perhaps I should not have tempted 


120 Agnes Grant’s Education 

you by placing the book in your hands. If you 
will tell me the whole story I — ’’ 

She interrupted him. ‘‘Call Miss West.” 

He left the room for a short time and returned 
accompanied by the teacher. Agnes sprang to 
her feet. 

"‘Miss West, you know you saw me at Pro- 
fessor Clark’s desk one day when you were search- 
ing for your Latin Grammar, and I told you the 
book I left there was the ‘King Lear’ the professor 
had loaned me. You can not deny every word 
of that.” 

Lilian West’s face flushed. “I should not 
think of denying it had it ever happened. But, 
as I told Professor Clark, there is not the slight- 
est foundation for the story. I was not at the 
desk, and you told me nothing about the book.” 

“Miss West, you lie!” The clear voice was 
hard and bitter. “Nor is this the only matter 
about which you have failed to tell the truth. I 
never borrowed a book of you; I have not heard 
of a thing stolen from a pupil this year, and I 
have told the exact truth. I believe you took the 
book. Professor Clark,” and she turned proudly 
to him, “I thought you knew me. You may make 


An Unjust Accusation 


I 21 


this story public as soon as you please, and have 
me arrested if you wish/’ 

The last vestige of Agnes’s self-restraint had 
vanished. She was possessed of a spirit of awful 
anger. Her face was colorless, and her breath 
came hard and fast. 

Miss West, alarmed at the white heat of 
Agnes’s indignation, had taken refuge behind the 
professor’s chair. She began to cry, and mur- 
mured something about not staying there to be 
abused by a wild person. 

Professor Clark turned from one to the other, 
a look of distress on his face. “I wish I could 
believe you both,” he said, in a perplexed tone. 
‘‘We will have to drop the whole affair.” 

The wrath of Agnes again blazed out. “In- 
deed, it shall not be dropped. You have accused 
me of stealing, and I shall not rest until my inno- 
cence has been proved.” 

A malicious glitter came into Lilian West’s 
gray eyes. “Prove it, then,” she cried. “I think 
the evidence would convict you in any court. You 
say you did place the book on the desk, I say 
you did not. As the book was never seen there, 
whose story would be believed?” 


122 Agnes Grant's Education 

Before Agnes could speak Professor Clark held 
up his hand in protest. “I must have time to think 
the matter over. Please go, both of you, and I 
will see you again.’’ 

So, exchanging looks of hatred and defiance, 
teacher and pupil left the room. 

Agnes walked slowly homeward, the russet 
and golden leaves rustling under her feet. A sea 
of bitterness ingulfed her soul. She branded a 
thief! And by Miss West, who knew the utter 
falsity of the words she uttered I Then she thought 
of encountering the scornful glances of her school- 
mates, and her heart grew sick and faint. 

By the time she reached the house her ex- 
pressive face so plainly showed her wretchedness 
that Mrs. Kent hardly waited for her admission 
that she was ill to hurry her off to bed. Agnes 
lay still, swallowing the herb tea and other reme- 
dies brought by her aunt. She was too miserable 
to speak, almost too miserable to think ; the word 
“thief” seemed branded in letters of fire on her 
brain. 

At last darkness fell, and Mrs. Kent, after 
doing all in her power to make Agnes comfortable 


An Unjust Accusation 123 

for the night, tiptoed away. Gradually the girl’s 
brain cleared, and she began to think calmly of 
the affair. Was she not powerless, as Miss West 
had said? Could she stay there and face that 
dreadful suspicion! Must she give up school and 
return in disgrace to her home? 

What would they say at home — her father, 
poor Jennie, who had toiled so hard for her, and 
Bertie? At the thought of her brother the first 
tears welled into her eyes. Faster and faster they 
came, and, burying her face in the pillow, Agnes 
sobbed out the grief and bitterness that seemed 
stifling her. 

When she grew calmer she remembered that 
she was innocent. Surely she would be righted. 
The memory of the awful passion that had swept 
over her returned, and she shrank back in horror. 
Could she have been more wicked ? As she 
turned, trembling from this thought, there seemed 
to rise up before her the pleading face of the Christ 
she had promised to serve. 

Slipping from her bed, Agnes knelt in prayer. 
It was not a far-away, intangible Divinity to whom 
she cried, neither was she asking for a vindication 


124 Agnes Grant’s Education 


of herself. She was asking Jesus to take posses- 
sion of her heart, and was asking in the way that 
is never refused. 

A long time she knelt there. When she crept, 
shivering, back to bed, she was at rest. As far 
as possible she would undo the evil effects of her 
yielding to passion. The remainder she had left 
with God. 

Mrs. Kent demurred at her going back to 
school the next morning. "‘You are as pale as 
you can be,’^ she said. “You stay at home, and 
I will send an excuse by Edith.’^ 

“Please let me go. Aunt Mary,” Agnes coaxed, 
gently. “Something happened last night that hurt 
me and made me sick. I must be at school this 
morning. At noon I will tell you all about it.” 

Mrs. Kent reluctantly consented, and Agnes, 
avoiding her schoolmates, hurried off to school. 
When she entered the high-school room. Profes- 
sor Clark and Miss West were standing near the 
door, conversing in a low tone. She advanced 
straight to them. 

“I was rude to you last night. Professor 
Clark,” she began, speaking firmly, although her 
lips quivered. “Please forgive me. And I want 


An Unjust Accusation 


125 


lo ask your pardon, Miss West, for my hasty 
words. It was very wrong in me to yield to my 
temper. I can make no change in the story I 
told; it is the truth. I am sorry, though, for the 
angry words I said.’’ And before either could 
speak she had turned away. 

Professor Clark looked directly into his com- 
panion’s eyes. He was startled by the look of 
hate he saw there. Had he made a mistake? 

The bell sounded, and the pupils took their 
places. Ten minutes were devoted to opening 
exercises. Just before the signal was given for 
books Agnes rose, and said to Professor Clark: 

“Please may I speak a moment?” 

The request was not an unusual one, as an- 
nouncements were often made in this way. The 
professor bowed his head in assent. Miss West 
raised her hand to strike the bell that stood be- 
fore her ; but, meeting the eye of Professor Clark, 
let it drop. A curious hush of expectancy fell upon 
the room. 

Agnes stepped out in the aisle, and faced her 
schoolmates. She was sixteen now — a tall, slen- 
der girl, with her head carried proudly erect. She 
stood still, a sunbeam from an eastern window 


126 Agnes Grant's Education 


touching her heavy dark hair, her face pale, but 
calm and grave. The gaze of every person in the 
room was fixed upon her. 

“Two weeks ago,” she commenced, in an un- 
faltering voice, “I brought with me, when I re- 
turned from dinner, a valuable book loaned me 
by Professor Clark. He was not in the room 
when I arrived, , and I left it, wrapped in a news- 
paper, upon his desk. It has disappeared. I 
have no evidence that I left it there, save my 
word. This is doubted. I want you, my friends, 
to help me clear up this mystery, and the cloud 
of suspicion that rests on me. In connection with 
this affair, it has been reported that pencils, hand- 
kerchiefs, and other articles have lately been stolen 
from pupils in this room. I ask Professor Clark 
to investigate this last charge now, as I feel that 
this was also made against me.” 

She took her seat. A murmur of indignant 
protest ran round the room. It was a moment 
before the professor rose. He was astonished, 
both at the courage of Agnes, and at her gener- 
osity in withholding the name of Miss West. As 
soon as he could trust himself to speak, he asked 


An Unjust Accusation 


127 


all who had missed articles that term to rise. No 
one moved. 

Five minutes’ investigation proved, to the en- 
tire satisfaction of Professor Clark, that that part 
of Miss West’s story was false. He looked very 
stern, but dismissed the matter without further 
comment. 

It was not until the close of the morning ses- 
sion that the fellow-pupils of Agnes had an op- 
portunity to flock round her and express their 
belief in her innocence. They did not stop here; 
they were indignant that such a charge should 
be made against her. 

“You! You!” And Edith’s face grew scarlet. 
“Why, Agnes, we would as soon think of attach- 
ing suspicion to Professor Clark as to you.” 

“We will find the thief, for there must be one,” 
declared honest Charlie Sloan, his face aglow with 
earnestness. “If that book is in Walters, it shall 
be found in less than a week.” 

Agnes went home to dinner. There she told 
the whole story, for she thought it right that her 
aunt should know it. 

Mrs. Kent was roused. She remembered per- 


128 Agnes Grant’s Education 

fectly Agnes starting for school with the book 
under her arm, and insisted on knowing the name 
of the person who had dared to insinuate that 
her niece was a thief. Agnes was reluctant to 
tell of Miss West’s connection with the affair, but 
Aunt Mary would have the whole truth. 

“Miss West knows where that book is,” Mrs. 
Kent decided. “If the matter is not straightened 
up within a week I shall go to her myself. 
She needs to understand that you are not a 
friendless girl whom she can abuse at her pleas- 
ure. I will send a note to the professor to-day. 
You a thief! Why, child, I would trust you with 
millions. It makes me too indignant to eat,” Mrs. 
Kent concluded, frowning severely at the clumsy 
little silver teapot. 

Even Uncle Mark was shaken from his usual 
calm. To him Agnes was above reproach, if only 
because she was an inmate of his home. How- 
ever, he had come to feel a real affection for the 
bright-faced girl, and tried to express his sympathy 
by pressing upon her the fried chicken and baked 
squash. 

It was not quite so hard to bear after all this. 
Professor Clark said there was some mistake. 


An Unjust Accusation 129 

and he should believe Agnes innocent until she 
was proven guilty. Remembering his openly ex- 
pressed doubt as to the truth of her words, the 
poor girl derived little comfort from this. Miss 
Barr proved herself a true friend. She bade Agnes 
wait patiently, saying the truth would win in time. 

Friday afternoon it was raining when school 
was dismissed. This added to the despondency 
of Agnes, for she could not go home. She lin- 
gered in the school-room, waiting for Mabel 
Crandal. 

“Ready at last,” Mabel cried as she crossed 
the room. “Now I ’m going home with you, and 
ask your auntie to let you go and stay all night 
with me. We will roast marshmallows, and 
mamma shall comfort you as only mamma — ” 

She was interrupted by the entrance of a 
ragged little boy of ten. The great room was 
nearly empty by that time, only the teachers and 
a half-dozen pupils remaining. All eyes were 
turned on the lad. He colored hotly, pulled off 
his cap, and looked round in a helpless manner. 
Catching sight of Miss West, he hurried forward. 

“Be n’t you the lady that was walkin’ out on 
the Mill Creek road last night?” he asked. 

9 


130 Agnes Grant’s Education 

The color receded from Lilian West’s cheek, 
and she shook her head. He went on: 

'T know you be, for I seen you. You see you 
lost this — ” 

A cry from Agnes interrupted him. She 
sprang forward and caught the parcel the boy was 
carrying. ‘^See! See!” she cried. “I know it is 
'King Lear!’ That is the very paper in which I 
wrapped it,” and, tearing aside the covering, she 
held up the missing book. 


CHAPTER IX 


Merry Christmas 



‘HERE was the wildest excitement for a few 


minutes. Then Professor Clark, Miss Barr, 
Miss West, Agnes, and the small boy disappeared 
in the professor’s office. It was a half-hour later 
before Agnes joined the waiting Mabel. The 
lashes of the young girl were wet, but in her eyes 
was happiness. 

is all right,” she exclaimed, joyfully. “I 
am fully exonerated, and the professor will an- 
nounce it Monday morning. Miss West’s con- 
nection with the affair is to be kept as quiet as 
possible. Nay, do not shake your head; it is my 
wish.” 

At first Miss West had denied the boy’s story. 
It was not until the professor threatened to put 
the matter in the hands of the School Board that 
she broke down. Then she made a full confession. 

She had taken the book, tempted by a sudden 


132 Agnes Grant’s Education 

impulse to revenge herself upon Agnes for the 
ill-feeling that was shared by so many others. 
She had told a falsehood to Professor Clark, in 
order to fix the theft upon Agnes. This untruth 
had been followed by a second one concerning 
her own book and the alleged stealing from the 
other pupils. When Agnes so fearlessly de- 
manded an investigation, Miss West began to 
tremble. The night before she had walked out 
on the road over which Agnes would pass on her 
way home and hidden the book. She had 
planned to walk out there again on Saturday, 
that time accompanied by another person. They 
would find the book, and it would appear that 
Agnes had hidden it on her way from Walters to 
the farm. The boy had seen Miss West and rec- 
ognized her as one of the teachers. On finding 
the book he concluded she had lost it, and carried 
the package to the school that he might return it 
to the supposed owner. 

Professor Clark’s indignation was unbounded. 
Perhaps a conviction that he had been too quick 
to censure Agnes made him more eager to right 
the wrong. He demanded that Miss West resign 
her position at once. Agnes pleaded for the 


Merry Christmas 133 

woman who had wronged her. At last it was de- 
cided that the teacher should remain in the school 
for a time. 

As Agnes and Mabel were descending the steps 
that led from the lower hall to the walk, Miss Barr 
joined them. She went straight up to Agnes and 
put one arm round the girl. 

“I must tell you again how glad I am. itow 
did you forgive so sweetly?’^ she asked, a note 
of weariness in her voice. 

Agnes smiled and clung close to her friend. 
"‘Thank you. I could forgive, because I have been 
forgiven. I was wrong at first, and I think I have 
had a lesson.” 

Katherine Barr watched the two girls disap- 
pear in the chill gray mist of the autumnal night. 

“Dear child!” she murmured. “She is right. 
She forgives as she thinks the Christ who is so 
real to her forgives. I, too, could learn a lesson 
from Agnes.” 

That evening, seated on the hearth rug in Mrs. 
Crandal’s cozy parlor, Agnes was very happy. 
They had played games and roasted marshmallows 
and chestnuts. Then the girls settled for what 
Mabel called “one of mamma’s beautiful talks.” 


134 Agnes Grant’s Education 


Mrs. Crandal watched the play of the firelight 
upon the face of her daughter’s friend, and won- 
dered what the future held for that girl. How 
much she needed a mother! The gentle mother 
heart of the woman longed to give to Agnes 
something of the thoughtful care she lavished upon 
her own children. 

She did not tire the girls with dry moralizing, 
but talked brightly of life and its possibilities. 
“In one sense,” she said, “your future holds for 
you just what you will it to hold. Love, confidence, 
and a generous reaching out to bring sunshine 
into the lives of others will fill your days with 
happiness, no matter where your life may be 
cast.” Drawing towards her from the table at 
her side a well-worn book, she read to them the 
beautiful “Vision of Sir Launfal,” lingering over 
the words: 

“ ‘The holy supper is kept, indeed. 

In whatso we share with another’s need. 

Not what we give but what we share ; 

For the gift without the giver is bare. 

Who gives himself with his alms feeds three, — 

Himself, his hungering neighbor, and me.’ ” 

Agnes’s face was thoughtful when the book 
was laid aside. “I am so slow to remember,” she 


Merry Christmas 


135 


said, answering the question in Mrs. Crandal’s 
eyes. “I never think to give until after I get. 
I could not have given forgiveness to-day if I 
had not first received it.’’ 

Mrs. Crandal stooped and kissed the low brow 
of the girl. “My little girl,” and the old pet 
name of her own mother made sweetest har- 
mony in the heart of Agnes, “that satisfies Him — 
to forgive as we are forgiven, to love as we are 
loved by him, to be like him. That is all, Agnes.” 

The next morning was bright, and Bertie 
drove over after his sister. Agnes told him the 
whole story of the wretched week, and repeated 
it to Jennie upon their arrival at the farmhouse. 
Both sympathized with her, and rejoiced that 
she had been cleared from even a shadow of 
doubt. They were also glad to note the gentle 
feeling shown by the usually self-sufficient Agnes. 

School was very pleasant after that. Every 
one seemed trying to make up to Agnes for what 
she had suffered. At home, too, all was well. 
Bertie continued as strong as during the fall, 
and this relieved the members of the household of 
much anxiety. 

The holiday vacation approached. Agnes 


136 Agnes Grant’s Education 


would be at home for two weeks. There would 
be many simple pleasures among her young 
friends that her absence from Walters would pre- 
vent her sharing. None of these was so much 
regretted as the party to be given on Christmas 
Eve by Mabel and her brother Paul. Agnes tried 
bravely to conceal her disappointment, but Mabel 
would not hear of her remaining away. 

''Come and spend Christmas with us,” she 
urged. "Mamma will be delighted. I will drive 
out for you a couple of days before, and you — ” 

Agnes laid one hand upon the rosy lips of her 
friend. "Do n’t tempt me,” she said, decidedly. 
"It would be glorious; but I will not so dis- 
appoint Jennie and Bertie. Of course, they would 
tell me to go and be happy. I know they have 
looked forward to my being home with them, 
and there is a limit to even my selfishness.” 

Mabel indignantly refuted her companion’s 
claim to selfishness. However, she understood 
that Agnes had decided to remain with her brother 
and sister; so she said no more about it. 

At home Mabel related this conversation. Mrs. 
Crandal was much pleased at Agnes’s decision; 
for she knew something of the home life of the 


Merry Christmas 


137 


Grants. She learned that Mrs. Kent had in- 
vited the family to her house for dinner on Christ- 
mas-day, and thought she saw a way out of the 
difficulty. 

At the close of the school week, Mr. Grant 
came for Agnes, the cold not permitting Bertie 
often to do this. The father was not talkative 
during these homeward rides. Agnes was usually 
too full of talk to remain silent. She understood 
that her father enjoyed her chatter, and was de- 
lighted at the progress she was making. 

When Agnes reached home, Jennie had a most 
surprising piece of news to relate. That very 
afternoon Mrs. Crandal had driven out to the 
farm and asked Jennie to assist her in receiving 
the young guests of her children. She had also 
brought a cordial invitation for Agnes and Bertie. 

'T am sure I do n’t know how she ever brought 
it about,” Jennie said, in conclusion; “but, Agnes, 
I actually said yes. At first I told her I had 
nothing but a plain black wool dress to wear. 
She laughed — the sweetest laugh — and said that 
description exactly fitted the gown in which she 
should be arrayed. She came before father 
started, and he urged our acceptance. Mrs. Cran- 


138 Agnes Grant’s Education 


dal is to send for us in the afternoon. We are 
to stay all night, and go to Aunt Mary’s in the 
morning, as we had planned to do. Father will 
come there to dinner and bring us home.” 

Jennie had poured this out hurriedly, her eyes 
keenly scanning the face of her sister. In her 
secret heart she had been a little afraid that Agnes 
would not approve. 

"‘If she seems afraid that I will be awkward, 
and make her ashamed of me, I will not want to 
go,” she said to herself. 

Agnes caught her sister in her arms, and 
whirled her round and round in her excess of joy. 
"‘That darling Mrs. Crandall There was never, 
never anything so delightful as this will be! I 
want my friends to see what a dear sister and 
brother I have. Miss Barr is to help Mrs. Crandal 
in entertaining, too. O how happy I am!” 

That Christmas Eve was a veritable bit of 
fairyland to Bertie. They were put down at the 
Crandals’ door in the middle of the afternoon. 
Bertie was made comfortable on a couch, and 
asked to help the others in making the ever- 
green wreaths with which the walls were to be 
decorated. Miss Barr came and sat by him for 


Merry Christmas 


139 


a time. Paul Crandal chatted merrily with him. 
Paul had graduated the year before, but was re- 
viewing some of his studies in the high school. 
He talked to Bertie as only a merry, good-natured 
boy could talk. 

There was a cozy lunch in the library, as the 
dining-room was occupied by the persons who 
were spreading the tables for the supper to be 
served later. 

While the ladies dressed, Donald, Mabel’s old- 
est brother, who was home from college, took Ber- 
tie for a drive. There were various commissions 
to be attended to. Bertie enjoyed it all : the lux- 
urious sleigh, the spirited horses, and the stars 
looking so calmly down on the thronged streets. 
Donald proved a most entertaining companion. 
Bertie so far forgot his shyness as to confide in 
his new friend his fear that, on account of his 
lameness, he would be unduly conspicuous to the 
many strangers whom he must meet. 

‘‘Never think of that,” Donald replied, reassur- 
ingly. “I will take you under my special charge. 
All you will have to do is to have a good time.” 

He helped the lad into the house, and super- 
intended his simple toilet. While doing so, Don- 


140 Agnes Grant’s Education 

aid Crandal promised himself that the lad should 
be his special protege for the evening. 

Bertie had a comfortable seat. Some of his 
friends were always near him, and he was in- 
cluded in many of the games and other amuse- 
ments. Soon he found himself talking easily to 
the very people he had feared to meet. 

His eyes rested proudly upon his sisters. Jen- 
nie seemed to him to be as well dressed as either 
Mrs. Crandal or Miss Barr. Bertie was not well 
versed in such matters, and never dreamed that 
both ladies had selected their costumes with spe- 
cial reference to the self-sacrificing girl who was 
to be their companion. Agnes was radiant. Ber- 
tie’s fond heart swelled with love and pride when 
he saw how popular she was with her young 
friends. It was as it should be, he thought; for 
to him there was no one to be compared with 
Agnes. 

There were games, songs, music, and recita- 
tions. The supper was delicious. Bertie forgot 
the awkwardness of his crutches when he found 
Miss Barr was to be his partner. With Mabel 
on the other side, he was carefully shielded from 


Merry Christmas 


141 

all embarrassment. He watched his friends, and 
thus avoided any mistakes regarding the to him 
unusual table furnishings. 

After they returned to the parlor, a group 
gathered around Bertie’s couch. The future was 
under discussion, each one telling what he or 
she expected to become. 

Paul said, with a laugh : ^‘Really, now, I some- 
times think I will not be anything. It ’s too much 
trouble to decide. I am all at sea. There is no 
way but to ‘draw cuts,’ as we used to say, to de- 
termine whether I shall be a minister, a doctor, or 
a lawyer.^’ 

A lack of decision was Paul’s greatest fault; 
but this was said so merrily that none dreamed 
of its truthfulness. Bertie looked at the speaker 
in surprise, hurt to hear the ministry of God’s 
Word so lightly spoken of. 

“Just wait a bit, and doubtless some of your 
friends will tell you what you had better be,” Edith 
said, teasingly. “I believe it is understood that 
you always follow the suggestion of the last per- 
son with whom you talk.” 

“Perhaps it would be well for the lad’s friends 


142 Agnes Grant's Education 

to canvass the public, and learn what he is fitted 
for,’^ Charlie Sloan began. “I hereby issue a call 
for a Convention to — ” 

Paul interrupted him. His face was flushed; 
for there was too much truth in this fun for the 
one most interested to enjoy it. say, you are 
too hard on a fellow. Give me a rest. We have n’t 
heard from you yet, Grant. What do you in- 
tend to be?” 

It was a thoughtless question. Even easy- 
going Paul would have remembered that Bertie’s 
helplessness prevented his looking hopefully to- 
ward the future, had/ he not been so eager to in- 
troduce a new topic of conversation. 

All eyes were turned on Bertie. Agnes shot 
an indignant glance at Paul, who saw his mis- 
take when it was too late. It seemed cruel to 
ask the poor boy such a question, but in the eyes 
raised so calmly to Paul’s face there was no shade 
of vexation or displeasure. 

'^A true follower of the Christ,” he replied, in 
his clear, birdlike voice. ^‘You see, I can never 
hope to do a man’s work in the world, like the 
rest of you boys. I can only love him where you 
can work for him.” 


Merry Christmas 


H3 


“Nobly said, my boy,’’ and Mrs. Crandal bent 
over the crippled youth. “Let us all, on this, his 
natal night, learn the lesson of true living from 
Bertie’s words.” 

A momentary hush fell upon the little group. 
Then the keys of the piano were touched by the 
skilled hand of Miss Barr, and a chorus of voices 
sang: 

‘*The night that erst no name had won. 

To it a happy name is given. 

For in that stable lay new-born 
The peaceful Prince of heaven.” 


After this they gathered around the open 
grate, and listened for ten minutes to the sweet 
voice of Mrs. Crandal. Many a glad and care- 
free young heart thrilled with her gracious pre- 
sentation of the first Christmas gift — the Son of 
God, who came to redeem mankind. Not as a 
mythical character from the past did she speak 
of him, but as a living, loving Presence, eager and 
waiting to enter into the closest companionship 
with each young listener. 

“Thank you, dear Mrs. Crandal,” murmured 
little Leone Barker when the hostess had finished. 
“You have brought him so close to us.” 


144 Agnes Grant’s Education 

With merry adieus the. guests departed. Ber- 
tie was taken to a neat little room. No sooner 
was his head upon the pillow than he fell asleep; 
for he was very tired. 

There was no ostentatious display of gifts the 
next morning. Mrs. Crandal was too well bred 
to burden her visitors with a sense of indebted- 
ness. When they sat down to breakfast there 
was a little gift at each plate. Bertie had Car- 
lyle’s “Heroes and Hero Worship;” for Jennie 
there was a pretty collar, while Agnes’s gift was 
a set of dainty pink ribbons for her hair and 
neck. 

Breakfast and family worship over, the Grants 
departed for the home of Mrs. Kent. There were 
many cordial expressions of enjoyment of the 
visit on both sides. Mrs. Crandal said she hoped 
it was but the beginning of an abiding friend- 
ship. 

Aunt Mary was in her most sunny mood. The 
fact that Jennie, her favorite niece, had passed 
the night as the guest of the refined and cul- 
tured Mrs. Crandal was most pleasing to the 
good woman. Mr. Grant emerged from his usual 


Merry Christmas 


H5 

moodiness, and conversed affably with Uncle 
Mark; and the day was a pleasant one to all. 

The dinner was a pronounced success. Roast 
turkey and cranberry sauce, chicken pie, pota- 
toes, squash, cabbage, jellies, pickles, preserves, 
mince and pumpkin pies, a great golden Indian- 
meal pudding, poundcake, and doughnuts — all 
these the host and hostess pressed upon their 
guests. 

It was snowing when they drove home. Soft, 
feathery flakes came drifting slowly down, touch- 
ing their cheeks as with caressing fingers. 

“I Ve been so happy !” Agnes murmured, 
nestling under the warm buffalo-robe. ‘‘And the 
very best of it all, you shared it with me. I so 
often wish I could give you some of my good 
times.’^ 

Agnes did not understand the joy her words 
gave her listeners. No costly Christmas gift 
could have brought the delight to Jennie and 
Bertie that this assurance did. Agnes — their 
bright, talented Agnes — had never swerved in her 
allegiance to them. 


lO 


CHAPTER X 


Graduation 

B ertie continued quite well through the 
winter. Agnes was very busy over her 
school work, especially as the end of the year drew 
near. She was to be the valedictorian of the 
class. This honor was hers, not because of her 
popularity, but as the reward of her scholarship. 
Jennie was proud of this triumph. 

Agnes saw, however, that something was 
worrying her sister. She determined that, what- 
ever this trouble was, it should be shared with 
her. 

One sunny afternoon in April the two girls 
were alone. Mr. Grant and his son had gone to 
Wharton. Jennie was sitting by the window, 
bending patiently over her task of mending a 
coat that belonged to her father. Agnes laid 
down her own sewing, and said: 

“Jennie, I know something is troubling you. 
146 


Graduation 


H7 

Is it my graduating dress? Tell me all about it, 
please.” 

Jennie hesitated. Agnes insisted, and after a 
little coaxing told the cause of her worried face. 

The mortgage given at the time of Arthur’s 
trouble had never been paid. Several other debts 
had been added to it, and the whole amount was 
$500. A new mortgage had just been made out. 
Mr. Martin had behaved in his usual high-handed 
manner. He had insisted on Mr. Grant giving 
him something, as he expressed it “to bind the 
bargain.” His choice had fallen upon a calf that 
had been given to Jennie by her father the year 
before. 

Agnes listened, a frown crossing her white 
forehead. “Why, papa could not do that,” she 
claimed. “June was yours. He had given her 
to you.” 

Jennie’s lips quivered piteously. “Poor fa- 
ther! You must not blame him, Agnes. Mr. 
Martin took the calf a week ago. It is your 
dress that is worrying me. I have not been able 
to save anything from the sale of the butter and 
eggs this spring. We have not had as much as 
usual, and there have been so many things we 


148 Agnes Grant’s Education 


have had to buy. You said you would be con- 
tent with cheap muslin, and I knew I could sell 
June for enough to — ” 

Her voice faltered and stopped. Agnes sprang 
to her feet, her face pale, her eyes gleaming. 

“I do blame our father,” she cried. “He has 
no right to treat you so. Why does he not do 
as he used to? Why does he not provide me 
with suitable clothing? I can’t graduate with- 
out a dress. I care the most for you, sister. It 
is wicked for him to treat you — ” 

Jennie, too, had risen. She advanced to the 
side of Agnes. Laying one hand on her sister’s 
arm, the older girl said, firmly: 

“Stop, Agnes.” 

There were but two words, but their effect 
was magical. Jennie’s face had never worn that 
look before. After a little she went on, calmly: 

“He is our father, Agnes. I fear you forget 
our mother’s dying words when you speak of 
him in that manner. If, as you say, you care 
the most for me, I beg of you to remember the 
love and respect you owe him.” 

Agnes’s burst of passion had passed. She 
threw herseli in her sister’s arms, crying: “For- 


Graduation 


149 

give me, dear! O Jennie, it is hard to do right! 
If you can bear it, I must.” 

For a short time the two clung together in 
silence. It was Agnes who first regained her com- 
posure. She raised her head, and said in a steady 
voice : 

“I will have to make my old white dress do. 
Let me get it, and we will take a look at it.” 

Jennie detained her by still holding her arm. 
“Aunt Mary?” she said, questioningly. 

The hot blood rushed into the young girl's 
cheek. “Aunt Mary thinks it foolishness to get 
a dress for graduating. She has already told me 
that she wondered at my letting you spend an- 
other penny on me. There is no use of thinking 
of her. The old dress must do.” 

Jennie said no more, and Agnes brought the 
dress from the room above. It was a coarse mus- 
lin, and Agnes had grown so much that the hem 
would have to be let down. This would give the 
skirt a scant look. Then, the sleeves were too 
short. 

“Imagine my standing up in that to deliver 
my valedictory. Jennie, there is another way. I 
am almost sure of a school for the fall term. If 


150 Agnes Grant’s Education 

we went to Mr. Spencer and told him, I am al- 
most sure he would trust us.” 

The elder sister looked pained. ‘‘Almost is 
not quite. I shall not dictate to you, Agnes, but 
I would rather see you receive your diploma in 
that faded gingham you have on than in a dress 
that was not paid for ! Remember how our 
mother shunned debt. Remember how much sor- 
row this debt upon our home is causing us. O, I 
know it is hard, my darling! I would be almost 
willing to beg for you!” 

Her impassioned words appealed to the bet- 
ter nature of Agnes. She took up the despised 
dress, and shook it out. 

“I will wear it, Jennie. It will be hard, but 
no harder than things you have to do. Besides, 
it really will not make much difference when I 
am a college professor. If the girls only would nT 
eye one so. Do n’t look so sorrowful, dear. I 
do not mind, not so very much.” 

Agnes tried to be brave. She was so merry 
and talkative that Jennie understood how deep 
the hurt really was. The elder sister endeavored 
to see some way out of the difficulty, but in vain. 
She was powerless. 


Graduation 


^51 

The time came for Agnes to return to Walters. 
She bade Jennie good-bye with many injunctions 
that she was not to give the dress a thought. 
They smiled at parting, yet each knew that the 
heart of the other was heavy. 

The week passed slowly. Already some of 
the girls in the class were beginning to talk about 
their graduating dress. Every word that Agnes 
heard hurt her. 

Thursday night Miss Barr invited Agnes to 
walk home with her. It was not until they had 
entered the parlor that the teacher said: 

‘‘Agnes, what is troubling you? I have seen 
all the week that something was wrong. I wish 
you would tell me all about it, dear.’’ 

Agnes knew it would be a relief to tell this 
true friend all. Could she confess their abject 
poverty even to Miss Barr? A few adroit ques- 
tions brought out the whole story. 

“What a brave girl you are, Agnes!” the 
teacher said, gravely. “Remember, those who 
love you will go on loving you just the same, 
^whether your dress be calico or silk. There are 
ten weeks yet, and in that time something may 
happen to dispel these clouds.” 


152 Agnes Grant’s Education 

Agnes went home comforted. True sympathy 
never fails to gild the horizon of the darkest day. 
When she went out to the farm the next night, 
she saw the lines of care on Jennie’s face, and 
she blamed herself for them. Straightway the 
impulsive Agnes decided that her sister was the 
dearest thing on earth to her. She would not 
only wear the old dress, but she would like to 
wear it. 

She talked of other things. When she did 
speak of wearing the dress, it was as a matter 
of no importance. She was considerate and kind, 
insisting, with a bit of her old self-renunciation, 
on performing all of the hardest and most dis- 
agreeable of the household tasks. 

Saturday afternoon she and Bertie went for a 
ramble in the fields. On returning to the house 
there was a horse tied at the gate. To the great 
surprise of Agnes, Miss Barr was in the sitting- 
room with Jennie. The young girl looked sus- 
piciously from one to the other. Her sister had 
certainly been crying. 

“I came out to see if you can be as generous 
as you are brave,” Miss Barr said, drawing Agnes 
down on the lounge at her side. '‘First, I am 


Graduation 


153 


going to tell you a little story — something about 
my baby sister Eloise. You are one of the few 
persons to whom I ever speak her name/’ 

Agnes pressed the hand of the other in quick 
sympathy. It was characteristic of her impulsive 
nature that, at the mention of the name of Eloise, 
all thoughts of herself were forgotten. 

^‘When little Eloise died,” Miss Barr went on, 
in a low voice, ^^the part of our father’s property 
which had been hers, of course, became mine. I 
did not need it, as my own portion was sufficient 
for my wants. Now I have my salary besides. I 
have always used the interest on Eloise’s money 
for charitable purposes.” 

“How much good you must have done !” Agnes 
exclaimed. “You never mention it. Is there a 
person in Walters who knows this?” 

Miss Barr shook her head. “You and Jennie 
are my first confidants. I should not have told 
even you had there not been a reason for it. I 
do not understand it, Agnes, but you have soft- 
ened my heart concerning the great loss that 
came to me. Will you let me give you, from 
Eloise, a graduating dress?” 


154 Agnes Grant's Education 

“O, do you think I told you for that?’' Agnes 
cried, the hot blood coloring her face. 

The soft hand of the teacher was laid upon 
her lips. know you had no such thought. I 
want to do it because I love you, and you seem 
near to us — Eloise and myself.” 

Tears stood in the eyes of Agnes. It was 
charity. No, she could not do it, not even for the 
sake of Eloise. She buried her face in the lap 
of her teacher, while sobs shook her slender form. 

No word broke the silence. Jennie wiped her 
eyes, and Miss Barr, one hand gently caressing 
the head of the weeping girl, sat looking out 
through the window to where the springtide was 
just waking the earth to newness of life. Kath- 
erine Barr thought how gladly she would ex- 
change her life of study and luxury for Jennie’s 
toil-burdened one could she but be blessed with 
a sister’s love. 

Meanwhile Agnes was thinking. She knew 
love prompted the offer of this gift. It would 
relieve Jennie of all care, and make her own last 
days at school happy ones. 

‘T am like Miss Barr herself,” she thought. 
“She will not take the gift of God’s love, and it 


Graduation 


155 


is the one thing she needs to make her life a de- 
light. I believe my pride is a false one. It is 
far harder, sometimes, to accept help than to give 
it. I will accept this gift and be glad.” 

She sprang up, throwing her arms round 
Katherine’s neck. “Thank you a thousand times, 
dear Miss Barr! I will take your gift; only it 
must not be a costly one.” 

“Jennie and I have already settled that point.” 
And Miss Barr kissed the flushed face of her 
pupil. “She is coming to Walters Friday to pur- 
chase it; for it will be better that no one knows 
my connection with the matter.” 

Miss Barr staid to tea. She spent a pleasant 
half hour with Bertie, while his sisters prepared 
the meal. Then she ate with a relish of the 
warm biscuits, ham and eggs, honey, and plain 
cake. 

They were all so happy ! The cloud had passed 
from the sky of Agnes, and for her brother and 
sister that was enough. As Miss Barr bade Jen- 
nie good-bye, she left two shining gold eagles in 
the hand of her hostess. 

“One will do,” Jennie said, hastily. 

“I think you had better get a good muslin,” 


156 Agnes Grant’s Education 


Katherine remarked. “Then it will make Agnes 
a suitable dress for several summers. It will need 
no trimming, save a few ribbons; but I would 
like her to have a pair of white slippers. Her 
fan shall be a gift from me. Do n’t, please, do n’t 
say me nay!” as she caught Jennie’s grave look. 
“It is hard for me to keep from envying you when 
I think how happy I would be were it Eloise.” 

Jennie understood, and, holding Katherine’s 
beautiful hands in her own rough ones, said: “It 
shall be as you wish. Miss Barr. Words can not 
express our gratitude. May God bless you!” 

There was one exception to the silence Kather- 
ine had suggested regarding her gift. All felt 
it Mrs. Kent’s due that she should know the 
whole story. Agnes was surprised at her aunt’s 
reception of the news; for she had feared cen- 
sure. 

“It is very kind in Miss Barr, and you could n’t 
refuse,” she said, thoughtfully, pausing in her work 
of filling the shining copper teakettle. “I did n’t 
approve of getting a dress at first, but when I 
found out they were all going to have them, I 
made up my mind you should not be the odd one. 
I have laid by five dollars to help get yours. I ’ll 


Graduation 


157 


give you the money, and you can get lace to 
trim the dress.” 

“Aunt Mary, you are so good!” and into the 
eyes of the young girl came the ready tears. “I 
thank you for this as well as for all the rest of 
your kindness. Let us take the five dollars and 
buy Jennie one of those pretty blue dimities at 
Spencer’s. I would much rather.” 

Mrs. Kent placed her teakettle on the stove, 
took a cloth from a nail, and wiped a drop of 
water from its shining surface, replaced the cloth, 
and, walking over to her niece, kissed her on 
the cheek. 

“Agnes Grant, I am prouder of you for that 
speech than I am for graduating, valedictory busi- 
ness, and all. Yes, Jennie shall have the dimity, 
and both she and Miss Barr shall know all 
about it.” 

The remainder of the school year sped rapidly 
away. Sometimes the joy of Agnes’s present 
was momentarily dimmed by the remembrance 
that she would soon be separated from her friends 
in Walters. She was eager to begin her future 
work — ^teaching. The coming time was no less 
rose-hued than the present. Aided by the cordial 


158 Agnes Grant’s Education 


recommendation of Professor Clark, she had se- 
cured for the next year a country school three 
miles from her home. The school was small, but 
the salary — $25 a month — seemed to Agnes al- 
most a fortune. 

Commencement-day came. It was a fair June 
day. The smiling azure sky bent caressingly over 
the flower-decked earth, and the scent of roses, 
the song of birds, and the voices of happy youths 
and maidens came on every breeze. 

The exercises of the high school were to be 
held in the carefully-kept park, commencing at 
two o’clock. Promptly as the hour struck the 
fifteen graduates, led by their teachers, stepped 
upon the prettily-decorated platform. In the eyes 
of Agnes was a glad light. She had reached the 
first goal of her ambition. 

Her dress fell around her in snowy folds. A 
white ribbon encircled her waist, and from each 
shoulder floated long ends of the same. Her 
slippers were white kid. The fan she carried had 
been given her by Miss Barr. It was of white 
satin, with curiously-carved ivory sticks. Mrs. 
Crandal had given her a pretty pearl ring, and 


Graduation 


159 

Donald had sent the pale pink roses she wore in 
her belt. 

At a given signal the class was seated. Agnes 
glanced keenly over the assembled audience. 
What a sea of faces ! A moment’s scrutiny of the 
rows of reserved seats, and she bent forward, a 
beautiful smile lighting her face. Her father, Jen- 
nie, and Bertie were all there, seated by the Kents. 
A little farther on sat the Crandals and Dr. Miller. 

It was two hours before the name of Agnes 
Grant was called. She stepped to the edge of 
the platform and bowed gracefully, no shade of 
embarrassment in her manner. Neither was there 
an offensive self-assurance. Her friends and 
teachers expected her to do well, and she would 
not disappoint them. That was all. 

^‘Onward” was her theme. As her clear voice 
rang out on the air, a look of interest began to 
appear upon the faces of many who had become 
weary of the long sitting. It was not so much 
the words of Agnes. These were simple and for- 
cible, but not markedly more so than those of 
the others. It was something in the girl’s face, 
something in the tones of her voice that com- 


i6o Agnes Grant’s Education 

manded attention. She had long looked forward 
to this scene as the closing one in the drama 
of her school life. Now a voice seemed to whisper 
“Onward/^ and while the well-known words fell 
from her lips a new resolve was born in her 
heart. God seemed very near to her. A sweet 
solemnity stole over her. 

All this was unknown to her hearers. Yet so 
mysteriously are human sympathies linked that 
many hearers were thrilled by the girl speaker. 
In the momentary hush after the last word her 
eyes sought those of Bertie. No, she had not 
disappointed him. He was content. 

Then came the presentation of diplomas. It 
was a relief when the formalities were over. 
Friends gathered around each candidate, who, 
blushing and flower-laden, received congratula- 
tions and kind wishes. 

The Grants were obliged to leave Agnes in 
Walters another night. She was to attend the 
alumni banquet held that night. On the morrow 
Mrs. Kent would bring her niece out to the farm. 
•Agnes’s school days in Walters were over. 


CHAPTER XI 


A Great Bereavement 

HE old feeling of unrest came back after a 



few days at home. Agnes had never ex- 
pressed this, and reproached herself for so often 
contrasting her own home with the luxurious 
parlors of Mrs. Crandal and Miss Barr, or even 
with the cheery plenty of the Kent home. It 
was not so much for herself that she longed for 
these things as for those so dear to her. 

When the poverty of their life bore heavily 
upon her, she used to wonder how Jennie could 
bear it all so sweetly. Agnes learned at these 
times to go away by herself for a little time, and 
tell it to the Friend who is never too busy to 
listen. Thus she learned to watch for the impa- 
tient word, and, better still, for the seed from 
which the word grew — the impatient thought. 

The extreme heat of the summer weakened 


II 


1 62 Agnes Grant’s Education 


Bertie. His face grew thin and wan. The fam- 
ily redoubled their exertions to make him com- 
fortable. 

One afternoon Agnes and her brother were 
alone, Jennie having driven to Walters to spend 
the day with Mrs. Kent. Agnes had spread a 
blanket on the soft grass in the shade of the 
house. On this Bertie was lying, his head rest- 
ing on a cushion, the beloved Carlyle in his hands. 
Agnes was sitting near, busy with some sew- 
ing. She raised her head, to find her brother’s 
eyes fixed questioningly upon her. 

“Well, what is it, Bertie?” she asked. 

“Agnes, what were you thinking of when you 
were speaking Commencement-day? I know ‘On- 
ward’ came to have a new meaning to you.” 

The girl dropped her work, and reached out 
one hand to lay it upon her brother’s head. “How 
strange that you should understand me that way !” 
she said, musingly. “You and Miss Barr are the 
only ones who do. You are right about that day. 
I had always hoped that my life would really be 
onward, as He would have it,” with a reverent 
glance upward and a loving inflection on the 
pronoun. “As I spoke that day, a definite plan 


A Great Bereavement 163 

seemed to form itself in my mind. Bertie, I am 
going to try for a college education.” 

The boy raised himself on his elbow, appar- 
ently half startled. “How can you do it?” he 
asked. 

“Of course, I must earn my own way,” Agnes 
began, clasping her hands about her knees, and 
letting her eyes wander off across the hills. 
“First, I shall help you and Jennie. That is 
what I have been working for. I do not care 
much about dress, and I intend to be so good 
a teacher that I will soon get a better salary. 
Do n’t look so incredulous, Bertie. The way is 
not so much hedged up as was that of my at- 
tending school at Walters before Aunt Mary 
made her generous offer. Now I can help myself. 
I am sure it will come, because” — and a far-away 
look came into the dusky eyes — “because, Bertie, 
I feel that it is the Father’s will.” 

Bertie’s face cleared. “Then He will make 
the way plain. Agnes, I am so proud of you 
now! What will I be then?” 

“That will depend on what I am then,” the 
girl replied, gathering up her work, and rising. 
“There goes Mrs. Morley’s supper bell. Father 


164 Agnes Grant’s Education 


will be here soon. I must stop dreaming of col- 
lege honors, and get supper.’’ 

The first week of September Agnes began her 
school. It was with a strange feeling of responsi- 
bility, on that bright autumn morning, that she 
confronted the eager little faces that were so 
closely watching her. There were only twenty 
pupils, and they were nearly all small children. 
The first day everything was new. Agnes was 
conscious she made several mistakes. Still, she 
was not at all disheartened when the last little 
one had said good-night and she was alone. 

“I shall like it,” she thought, sitting down at 
the table and dropping her chin in her hand. 

’ve everything to learn, but I will get used to 
things in a few days. Now I must sweep my 
castle, and proceed to learn if my boarding-place 
is as satisfactory as my school.” 

A half hour later she stood at the door of a 
comfortable farmhouse. A tall, angular woman, 
with a sallow face and faded dark eyes, met her. 

“Now, I know you air ’most tired to death,” 
she began, volubly. “A good wash and some 
supper will set you up. Here, Madge” — ^to her 


A Great Bereavement 


1^5 

pretty little daughter — ‘‘you show the teacher her 
room. Make yourself right to home, my dear. 
You ’ll find I ’m a big talker, and something of a 
scold ; but we ’ll be friends all right. I remember 
when my Huldah, that ’s in heaven now, first went 
away to teach school.” 

Agnes smiled, but her lips quivered. She re- 
membered her own lack of mother-love. Mrs. 
Smith understood, and muttered to herself, as 
she hurried back to her own neat kitchen : 

“Poor little girl! No mother and a no-account 
father! Well, she shall have a friend in Ellen 
Smith, and I ’ll see that she gits the worth of her 
dollar and a half a week in eatin’.” And she 
bustled about, mixing cream biscuits and paring 
golden-fleshed peaches for supper. 

Friday night Agnes went home. She was able 
to report to the ones so much interested that she 
liked teaching very much. Putting all her ener- 
gies upon the work before her, she soon had her 
school in a fine condition. Mr. and Mrs. Smith 
were very kind to the young teacher. Little 
Madge, the only child at home, soon became a 
great pet of Agnes’s. 


1 66 Agnes Grant’s Education 

The fall term passed pleasantly. There was 
to be a short vacation ; then Agnes was to return 
for the winter. 

A part of her vacation was spent at Walters. 
Mabel was at home, busy studying music. Paul 
had not gone to college, as had been planned, 
but was working frantically away at painting. 

Agnes expressed wonder at this change of 
plan. Mabel shrugged her shoulders. 

“The dear fellow is a puzzle to us all. He had 
promised to enter college this fall, even if he could 
not decide upon a profession. The week before 
the commencement of the college year he con- 
cluded to become an artist.’’ 

“What did your mamma say?” 

“She was much grieved. Donald lost all pa- 
tience, and urged mamma to insist on his entering; 
but she thought best not. Paul is the most tal- 
ented of any of us, but I fear he will never make 
a success of his work.” 

“Why?” Agnes asked. “He is very bright, 
and his pictures seem wonderful to me. I am no 
judge; but you remember that old Italian who 
came here last year to organize an art class said 
Paul had an excellent eye for color.” 


A Great Bereavement 


167 


Mabel looked grave. ''The trouble is, Agnes, 
Paul will not stick to anything. He says there 
is nothing worth going to so much trouble for. 
This craze for painting will soon die. Then, worse 
than all the rest, he reads skeptical books, and 
talks dreadfully. It hurts us so! Mamma tries 
to be brave. She says one day Paul will see things 
differently; but I get almost discouraged. 

Mabel, always so cheery and glad, was weep- 
ing. Agnes took her friend in her arms, and tried 
to comfort her. It was sad to think of Paul as 
going the downward way — not the way of dissipa- 
tion, as had her own brother, but that of doubt 
and unbelief. 

Both Aunt Mary and Miss Barr welcomed the 
young girl warmly. They begged for a longer 
visit. Agnes could not consent ; she was needed at 
home. 

Bertie was not well. With the first cold 
weather he began to cough. Dr. Miller said he 
must be very careful of exposure. Perhaps it 
was the proudest moment of Agnes Grant’s life 
when the money she had earned paid for the 
warm flannels the doctor had said Bertie must 


1 68 Agnes Grant’s Education 

have. The boy thanked her. After a moment 
he said: 

‘Tt ’s too bad, Agnes, for you to spend your 
money for me. I want you to save it to help you 
through college.’^ 

Agnes’s arms went close around her brother’s 
neck. '‘Bertie, dear, I would far rather spend 
my money to make you comfortable and happy 
than for anything else. It is not mine. It is 
ours, as everything used to be when we were lit- 
tle children. I have not given up college, but 
first I am going to pay you and Jennie back for 
some of your goodness to me.” 

Out from under Bertie’s closed lids the slow 
tears crept. It was so seldom that his face was 
clouded, Agnes was alarmed. 

“What is it, brother?” she asked, gently strok- 
ing his hair. 

“O Agnes, help me to be patient!” The cry 
burst from the poor boy’s heart. “If I could 
only work like other boys, and take care of you 
and Jennie! It is all right, though. God willed 
that I should be lame for some good purpose, and 
I try to bear it without murmuring.” 


A Great Bereavement 


169 


It was the only complaint that ever escaped 
his lips. As the cold increased, he grew weaker 
and weaker. Jennie lavished on him a double 
portion of the loving care she had given him 
since his babyhood. His father made the old 
house more comfortable. Mr. Grant never failed, 
no matter what the weather might be, to be 
waiting at the schoolhouse door when the time 
of dismissal came on Friday. Bertie counted the 
hours of Agnes’s absence. 

The beginning of the winter term of school 
brought several new pupils. Among these were 
the large boys of the neighborhood, who had 
been engaged with the fall work at the commence- 
ment of the school year. Some of these pupils 
were older than their teacher ; but the most 
friendly relations existed between them and 
Agnes. 

Perhaps one reason why the patrons of her 
school were especially kind to Agnes was because 
they knew the trouble that was threatening her. 
They understood the hopelessness of her broth- 
er’s illness. 

The month of April Agnes spent at home. 


170 Agnes Grant’s Education 


The spring term of school was to be eight weeks 
in length, and it did not commence until the first 
of May. 

One afternoon Mrs. Kent drove over from 
Walters to stay all night. She had just reached 
the farm when it began raining. 

The storm was a severe one, and lasted all 
night. About three in the morning, Mr. Grant 
came to the stair door and called his daughters, 
saying Bertie was ill. They were soon at his 
side. Mrs. Kent was only a few steps be- 
hind them. 

Bertie was coughing. Agnes bent over him, 
then started back, a cry of terror breaking from 
her lips. 

From his pallid lips a stream of blood was 
issuing. Jennie knew what to do; for Dr. Miller 
had long before warned her of this danger. The 
flow was soon checked, and Bertie sank into a 
stupor. 

As soon as day broke, Mr. Grant started off 
in the rain for Dr. Miller. Both Jennie and her 
aunt knew this was useless. It was evident that 
neither love nor science could stay the coming 


A Great Bereavement 171 

of the death-angel. The doctor returned with 
the anxious father. One glance at the calm face 
of the sleeping boy, and the wise physician turned 
away. 

“There is nothing more to be done,^’ he said, 
stooping to lay one hand upon the head of Agnes, 
who was kneeling by the bed. “Bertie will soon 
be at rest.’^ 

Even as he spoke the sun parted the clouds, 
and a burst of radiant glory shot athwart the 
rain-drenched earth. Agnes moved her head im- 
patiently, but into Jennie’s white face stole a look 
of peace. Moving to the side of her father, she 
slipped one hand within his, and whispered: 

“Do not grieve, father. He will be with 
mother.” 

The sweet words brought no comfort to the 
heart of James Grant. Would not they both be 
lost to him? Must not his years go on in loneli- 
ness? With a quick-drawn breath he dropped 
Jennie’s hand and strode to the door. 

The hours of the day wore on. Bertie lay 
still, recognizing none of the kind friends who 
came and went. As the sun was painting the 


iy2 Agnes Grant’s Education 


western sky with beauty, there was a convulsive 
struggle, and Bertie was in the land, ‘^the inhabit- 
ants whereof never say, ‘I am sick/ ” 

We will not linger over the days which fol- 
lowed. Many of us know what such days are. 
Even the fortunate few who have been spared 
the knowledge will understand something of the 
desolation that filled that humble home. 

For the first time Jennie proved the weaker 
of the two sisters. She clung to Agnes. When 
the time for the younger girl to return to her 
school came, she was alarmed at her sister’s dread 
of being left alone. Agnes urged her father, for 
Jennie’s sake, to rouse himself and be a compan- 
ion to her. He shook his head. 

“It would be no use. I ’m no good to any 
one,” he muttered, turning away from the plead- 
ing face of his daughter. 

The young teacher was obliged to go to her 
school, haunted by the utter hopelessness of Jen- 
nie’s face. The Smiths and her pupils did all in 
their power to comfort the sorrowing Agnes. 

Wednesday morning, from her seat behind the 
shining coffee-pot, Mrs. Smith looked long and 
searchingly at her boarder. 


A Great Bereavement 


173 


“I ’m ’most sure you did n’t sleep any last 
night,” she began, as she poured a generous por- 
tion of cream into the cup designed for Agnes. 
“You must eat some breakfast. Father, you cut 
her a bit of that fish and give her a corn muffin. 
I ’ll tell you what, child, you shall have Bay after 
school, and drive home and stay all night.” 

A gleam of quick delight sprang into the eyes 
of Agnes. “O Mrs. Smith, do you mean it? 
How glad I shall be to go!” 

“And go you shall,” Mrs. Smith said, ener- 
getically. “Try a bit of the quince jell. There ’s 
a good child.” 

Agnes tried to eat. Animated by the thought 
of seeing Jennie that very day, she really en- 
joyed her breakfast. Neither did the day seem 
so long as the one that had gone before it. Al- 
ready the routine of regular work was beginning 
to occupy her mind. Pretty Bay was waiting for 
her at the farmhouse gate. Mrs. Smith insisted 
on Agnes stopping for a glass of milk and a fresh 
cookie before she started on her ride. 

“Here, I brought your shawl,” she called out 
as the impatient girl sprang into the carriage. 
“Good-bye, Agnes. I wish you were my girl.” 


174 Agnes Grant’s Education 

Agnes stooped and kissed the worn face. 
“You are indeed a mother to me, dear friend. 
I am sure my own dear mother and your daugh- 
ter, both of whom are in heaven, see your good- 
ness, and are glad.'’ 

Agnes reached home, and Jennie came running 
down to the gate to meet her. One glance at the 
serene face told Agnes that peace had returned 
to her sister. 

“I am so glad to see you, darling!” Jennie ex- 
claimed. “I must tell you at once, for I under- 
stand how my gloom grieved you. It is all right 
now. At first I could not get rid of the feeling 
that I had lost Bertie. I knew better, but I missed 
him so ! Now I know he is as much mine as ever, 
only he has gone on to such a perfection now that 
he does not need my ministrations as he did when 
here.” 

The shadow never came back to Jennie's face. 
Her mind was not keen and inquiring like that 
of Agnes. The former trusted, where the latter, 
obeying the impulses of her yet undisciplined na- 
ture, tried to order the course of her own life. 

Both loved Jesus; Jennie, simply, wholly, and 
Agnes devotedly, but often imperfectly. The elder 


A Great Bereavement 175 

could for years lead a life of smiling self-sacrifice. 
In fact, it was easier for Jennie to yield than to 
oppose. Difficulties were as the breath of life to 
the younger girl; she might be able to give more 
in one hour than the other in a lifetime. 

Which was the better way? There was no 
comparison. To each soul had been given its in- 
heritance for the perfect working out of God’s 
plans. 

Notwithstanding the desire of Agnes to be 
home she experienced a feeling of real regret when 
her school closed. She was offered the same po- 
sition for the next year, but determined to try for 
a school where the salary would be larger. 

The first days at home brought Bertie back to 
her very vividly. It was Jennie now who was 
the comforter. In all possible ways she strove 
to interest Agnes in her favorite pursuits. 

One morning early in July Agnes had just fin- 
ished the kitchen work when Jennie returned from 
carrying the butter she had been churning to the 
rude cellar. The elder sister nodded approvingly 
at the pan of crisp molasses cookies, nicely 
browned loaves of bread, and cherry pies. 

‘‘How warm and tired you look!” she said. 


176 Agnes Grant's Education 


'‘Come, let us go in the other room where it is 
cool, and rest. There is plenty of time before 
commencing dinner.” 

Jennie sat down on the lounge, but Agnes 
went to the door, and stood looking across the 
sunlit fields and down the shady road. No sound 
broke the stillness save the monotonous creaking 
of the grindstone which a boy was turning to en- 
able Mr. Grant to sharpen a cradle-blade, and the 
distant twittering of a mother robin. Agnes list- 
lessly watched the ‘approach of a team. 

Suddenly she started. The team had halted at 
their gate. 

“Jennie, some one is coming. Two men, a 
woman, and a child. One man is getting back 
in the carriage, but the rest are coming in.” 

The girls watched the newcomers as they 
passed through the gate. The man lifted the child 
in his arms, and stepped in front of his companion. 
Agnes laid her hand upon the arm of her sister. 

“Jennie, don’t you know him?” and her voice 
sounded as if it came from a great distance. “It 
is Arthur.” 


CHAPTER XII 

Family Troubles 

T T was true. After an absence of five years 
the eldest son of James Grant had returned. 
He was heavier than when he went. The lines 
graven on his dark, handsome face were such as 
would have made his mother's heart ache. 

He accepted the tender, joyful welcome of Jen- 
nie and the rather constrained greeting of his 
father and Agnes with indifference. In his appear- 
ance there was no trace of shame for the manner 
of his going from home. 

Mrs. Arthur Grant was a plump little blonde. 
Her placid face was unmistakably German. She 
was dressed neatly, and her flaxen hair was smooth 
and shining. The child was a beautiful little girl, 
barely a year old. She had the delicately-cut fea- 
tures of her father and Agnes, but she was fair 
with beautiful blue eyes. 

There was something so like the look of a 
177 


12 


178 Agnes Grant’s Education 

trusting child in the wife’s face that Jennie felt 
her heart go out to her. Agnes went down on 
her knees before the baby. 

“What is your name, darling?” she asked, 
holding out one coaxing hand. 

A merry laugh broke from the baby’s lips. 
She caught the outstretched hand with both her 
dimpled ones. It was Arthur who' replied. 

“We call her Nellie, although she was chris- 
tened Helen after mother. Gretchen insisted on 
the christening, you understand.” 

Something in the flippant tone stung Agnes, 
and she darted an indignant look at him. He 
missed it, as he had already turned to his father. 

“Well, I do n’t see as any of you have changed, 
unless it is Agnes. She ’s grown to be almost a 
beauty, and Aunt Mary tells me she is a graduate 
and a teacher.” 

“You saw Aunt Mary at Walters?” Jennie 
asked. 

“Yes. We honored her with our presence last 
night. I do n’t believe she appreciated the honor. 
Of course, she told me the old story, Jen — your 
selfTsacrifice. I think you have had a fine time of 
it all these years. Take care you do n’t work the 


Family Troubles 


179 


game too long. You are a full-fledged old maid 
now — twenty-five, you know,’’ and his coarse laugh 
rang out. 

Jennie flushed, but the face of Agnes grew 
very white. How dared he speak so to Jennie? 
Had he returned to add one more burden to those 
carried by the devoted daughter and sister ? 

‘‘It was Tom Lane that drove you over, was 
it not?” Mr. Grant asked, peering out of the win- 
dow. “What is he waiting for?” 

Arthur yawned and stretched his arms above 
his head. “Waiting for his money, I guess. Fact 
is, I ’m strapped. Lend me a couple of dollars 
for Lane, father.” 

The face of the father turned a dull red. Even 
to his biased mind there was something shameful 
in such a home-coming as this. 

“I have n’t but a dollar,” he said, doggedly. 
“Agnes has money; she will lend it to you for a 
few days.” 

“So you ’re the treasurer of the family,” Arthur 
said, turning to. his sister. “I will remember that 
when I want a couple of hundred.” 

He was not troubled with sensitiveness, yet 
his gaze faltered under the fiery glance of Agnes. 


i8o Agnes Grant's Education 


She did not speak, but, going upstairs, re- 
turned with a dollar in her hand. She did not 
offer it to her brother; instead she laid it in her 
father's hand. 

The two men strolled out to the waiting 
driver and paid him. When they returned, Arthur 
said : 

“We ’ll go over after the goods this afternoon. 
Gretchen would not hear to our selling our furni- 
ture, so we brought it.” 

'Tt was my mother’s,” the young wife said. 

Jennie turned to her with a smile of sympathy. 
'T was just thinking how hard it must be for 
Arthur to come home and find mother and Bertie 
both gone,” she said in a voice choking with emo- 
tion. 

The sight of tears irritated Arthur. ‘T knew 
they were dead,” he said, impatiently. heard 
about mother through Jim Enderly, whom I ran 
across a couple of years ago. As for Bertie, I was 
surprised when Aunt Mary told me how long he 
had lived.” 

The heartless words silenced them all. Gretchen 
caught up her baby and pressed her to her breast. 


Family Troubles i8i 

That told the keen-eyed Agnes much. After an 
uncomfortable silence Mr. Grant asked his son 
about the years of his absence. 

Arthur had gone East. He had wandered from 
place to place, and two years before had married 
Gretchen in New York. The girl’s mother had 
kept a cheap eating-house. It was plain that the 
thrifty, energetic mother had borne the burden of 
the family’s support. She had died two months 
before, and Arthur had resolved to return to his 
father’s home. 

‘T am tired of life in a city,” he said in con- 
clusion. “Here one will not have to worry about 
rent and such things.” 

“He gives us plainly to understand that he has 
come to stay,” Agnes whispered to Jennie when 
they had gone to the kitchen to prepare dinner. 
“We can not stand that, can we, Jennie?” 

Jennie caught the hand of Agnes in both her 
own. “Sister, remember our mother’s prayers for 
him. He is our brother as much as Bertie is.” 

Agnes shook her head defiantly. “I can’t feel 
as you do. In a certain way I love Arthur, and 
I would not like to hear others say unkind things 


1 82 Agnes Grant’s Education 

about him. There is something in his presence, 
even after all these years, that awakens a spirit 
of antagonism within me.” 

Jennie recalled these words many times in the 
weeks that followed. In all the dark days that 
had come and gone their home had never been so 
unpleasant a place as it was that summer. Arthur 
settled down in idleness. He did not rise until 
long after the family had breakfasted. He did not 
offer to help with the farm work. His time was 
spent in hunting, fishing, and lounging at his old 
retreat — the store at Wharton. 

This exasperated Agnes. Arthur had not been 
home a week before she refused to lend him money. 
Sometimes hot words passed between them. Still, 
Agnes was Arthur’s favorite sister. He was proud 
of both her pretty face and her education. 

For the always gentle little Gretchen the sis- 
ters had only pity. She never complained, but into 
her soft eyes came a look of weariness. Nellie 
was her mother’s chief joy. 

The household goods arrived, proving a sur- 
prise both as to their quantity and their excellent 
quality. It was found necessary to store the 
greater part of them, although Gretchen insisted 


Family Troubles 


183 

on some of the articles being used in the family. 
She was industrious, and at once began sharing 
all the household tasks. 

It was soon necessary for Agnes to settle the 
question of a school for the next year. Jennie 
urged her to return to her former position, but 
she refused. She had been offered the school at 
Orr, a tiny country village only a few miles away. 
Here she would receive five dollars more a month. 
As the school was considered one of the most diffi- 
cult in the country, Jennie did not wish her sister 
to attempt it. 

‘‘I can as well earn that extra money,’’ was 
Agnes’s reply to her sister’s remonstrance, adding 
bitterly: '‘The way things are going at home, I 
will need it.” 

On one point Jennie was firm. Agnes must 
not spend her money for the family. 

“We have plenty of food,” she said. “For you 
to furnish other things will encourage Arthur in 
idleness. I want you to save your money to go 
to school. Do n’t keep it here, dear. Give it to 
Uncle Mark to keep for you.” 

There was one gleam of brightness for the sis- 
ters before Agnes began teaching. Leaving 


184 Agnes Grant’s Education 


Gretchen to keep house, they went to Walters for 
a week. 

Aunt Mary was indignant at Arthur’s conduct. 
She urged Jennie to stay with her, but the faithful 
daughter would not leave her father. Mrs. Kent 
made the visit a pleasant one for the nieces, invit- 
ing Agnes’s old school friends in for an evening. 

Mrs. Crandal was in poor health. Mabel had 
hoped to go East to study music, but had decided 
to remain with her mother. Paul was absent. He 
still worked a little at his painting. 

The day before the girls went home Miss Barr 
returned from her summer vacation. That year 
was to be her last one at Walters. 

‘^Next year I shall go abroad,” she told Agnes. 
“It has long been my plan to go to Europe for 
study. The way will be open next year, as an old 
friend of my mother’s will then take her artist 
daughter to Rome. I will go with them, study 
music and languages, and — ^be happy.” 

She paused a little before the last word. There 
was nothing of the old bitterness in her voice. 
Agnes understood that something had come into 
her friend’s life that was enriching it. Taking the 
proud, dark face between her hands, she studied it. 


Family Troubles 


185 


A soft pink flush stole over the rounded cheek. 
"‘There is nothing to tell/’ Katherine cried. “Only 
— O, Agnes, I begin to see that — that life is love.” 

Agnes sighed. Was it always to be human love 
upon which Katherine’s happiness depended? In 
asking this the young girl forgot that she was 
allowing trouble and worry to dim her own joy 
in perfect love. 

Her school work at Orr was very different from 
that of the year before. The attendance was larger, 
many of the pupils were hard to control, and her 
patience was often taxed to the utmost. 

She was not dismayed, although she often went 
at night to her boarding-place too weary to do 
aught but throw herself upon the bed and rest. 
She boarded with a family by the name of Bed- 
ford. The mistress of the house was a gentle, 
cultured woman, firm, and so exact in all things 
as to inspire the young teacher with a feeling 
strongly resembling awe. However, she was very 
kind to Agnes. 

With the coming of autumn Arthur Grant en- 
tered into a bargain with his father. The son was 
to work the farm on shares the next year. Arthur 
saw that his father was tired of his son’s idleness. 


1 86 Agnes Grant's Education 

Jennie understood that any dependence upon Ar- 
thur meant a shrinking in their already scanty in- 
come. She proposed to her father that she would 
look for employment, as Gretchen could manage 
the house. 

“Don’t go away, Jennie,” Mr. Grant cried. 
“You are the only thing left to remind me of your 
mother. Promise me you will stay while I need 
you.” 

Jennie unhesitatingly promised. Would he not 
always need her? 

Agnes did not always come home to spend 
Saturday and Sunday. It was much more pleasant 
at the Bedfords, and when she did come it was for 
Jennie’s sake. 

The elder sister never complained. Not even 
Agnes understood how lonely she was nor how 
dark her future looked. 

Soon after holidays Mr. Grant received a com- 
munication from his old home. The estate of 
a deceased relative was being settled, and there 
was much trouble. If the will produced in court 
was broken the property would go to the dead 
man’s son, so there was no profit to James Grant 
in the transaction. Still, his evidence was needed 


Family Troubles 


187 


regarding matters long past. The heir under the 
will wrote, offering to pay Mr. Grant’s expenses 
if he would come East and help settle the matter. 
Jennie persuaded him to accept the offer. She 
hoped a few weeks among the scenes of his youth 
would do him good. He consented to go, and left 
home the middle of January. 

The week after he went Agnes encountered 
the most vexatious trial she had thus far met. 
Two of the largest boys — Frank Raymer and 
Charlie Brown — were taking every possible ad- 
vantage of the girl teacher. Their example soon 
induced others to attempt the same thing, and in 
a short time the school became noisy and dis- 
orderly. 

Agnes tried to be patient. She appealed in 
vain to the pride of the boys. At last she was 
forced to admit to herself that she was losing 
control of her pupils. Should she appeal to the 
School Board and have the offenders expelled? 
That would but hasten their feet along the down- 
ward way. Could she not, in some way, settle the 
trouble herself? 

One afternoon a climax came. It was a bright 
day, the air cold and invigorating. The exhilarat- 


1 88 Agnes Grant’s Education 


ing sense of freedom and strength that came in 
the north wind made the children uneasy. Whis- 
pering, shuffling of feet, lack of attention — these 
followed. Frank became so bold that Agnes saw 
that to let him go longer unchecked was to lose 
her pupils’ respect. 

The same occult influence that made the pupils 
restless gave the teacher a strange craving for 
action. She paused a moment, and lifted a sincere 
prayer for help. She must win. Could she not, 
in memory of her beloved brother, help these boys ? 

She advanced down the aisle with a firm step. 
“This confusion has gone far enough.” Her 
voice instantly arrested the attention of every child. 
As of old, Agnes did not doubt her power. “Frank, 
take your books, and occupy that seat,” pointing 
to one near her own desk. “You and Charlie can 
not sit together longer.” 

Had a bombshell fallen at the boy’s feet he 
would have hardly been more surprised. He and 
Charlie had been seatmates for years. How dared 
that slender girl make a command she could not 
enforce ? 

Frank raised an insolent gaze to his teacher’s 
face. Something he saw there silenced the rude 


Family Troubles 


189 


words he had opened his lips to speak. Agnes 
was thoroughly roused, and confident of herself. 

The silence lasted a moment longer. Then 
Agnes spoke again: 

“Go at once 

Her assurance worked a change in Frank’s 
mood. One quick glance around the room showed 
him that sympathy was with the right. A mo- 
ment longer he hesitated. Then he hastily gath- 
ered up his books, and moved over to the desig- 
nated seat. 

Agnes had won. Could she continue her vic- 
tory? If she did, there must be no hesitating. A 
bold plan suggested itself to her, and she pro- 
ceeded at once to act upon it. 

She dismissed the younger pupils, and asked 
the older ones to remain for a short time. In a 
few plain words she spoke of the state into which 
the school was drifting, and of the evil this was 
surely working in the lives of the pupils. Never 
had the vileness of a life of low aims been pre- 
sented to those boys and girls in such clear, forci- 
ble language as it was that afternoon. Contrasted 
with this was a life of righteousness. 

“To-morrow morning,” she said, in conclusion. 


I go Agnes Grant’s Education 


am going to begin reading you of the one 
perfect Life after which I am trying to fashion my 
own. I hope to make this year a helpful time to 
each one of you, but in this I must have your help. 
How many of you will help me bring about a bet- 
ter state of affairs in this school, commencing 
now 

Frank Raymer’s hand was the first to go up. 
Agnes had conquered ; and there was a rude 
chivalry in his nature that paid tribute to victory. 
Besides, he saw there was going to be a change. 

Agnes understood that in the past she had 
been too easy. She was no less kind and cordial, 
but there was a change. Perfect obedience was 
demanded as her right. The children came to 
see that she governed them because it was her 
duty to do so. 

The most marked change was in Frank. Char- 
lie followed his chum’s lead in his usual stolid 
fashion, while Frank became possessed of a warm 
liking and respect for the girl whom he began 
unquestioningly to obey. 

On the first morning after this talk Agnes be- 
gan devoting five minutes of the time set apart 


Family Troubles 


191 

for opening exercises to a study of the life of 
Christ. She found that many of her pupils knew 
little of the Bible. Jesus, as a personal factor in 
their lives, was unknown to them. She resolved 
to show them the beauty of his life, hoping thereby 
to waken in them a train of thought that would 
lead them to grasp the divine meaning of his 
death. 

Frank Raymer’s home was an ungodly one. 
He never attended Church or Sunday-school. 
His knowledge of Deity was vague. Therefore, 
the sweet story of the birth and early life of Jesus, 
as presented by Agnes, attracted him. As she 
went on, the boy fell under the influence of that 
nameless spell that marks the story of that one 
perfect Life. Frank became more thoughtful, and 
prepared his lessons with more care. The seed 
sown by the young teacher was already springing 
up. What would the harvest be ? 

Mr. Grant was gone six weeks. Upon reach- 
ing home one Friday night, Agnes found that he 
was expected that evening. Arthur was suffer- 
ing from a cold, and refused to drive to Walters, 
saying that, as it stormed, his father could stay 


192 Agnes Grant’s Education 

all night with the Kents, and get a ride home 
the next day. Jennie had said little, but had 
engaged a boy to drive the team over to meet 
her father. 

It was eight o’clock before Mr. Grant reached 
home. Owing to the wind and rain, the rattle 
of the wheels was not heard. The first intimation 
the family had of his arrival, he opened the door, 
and strode in. 

He was not alone. Close behind him came a 
tall, spare woman. Her form was completely 
shrouded in a blanket shawl, which she had un- 
folded to its utmost extent, hoping thereby to save 
her dress from the falling rain. 

For a moment no one spoke. Jennie advanced 
a few steps, then stopped, and looked expectantly 
at her father. 

Mr. Grant’s face colored, and he muttered some 
unintelligible words. It was the woman’s voice, 
hard and cold, which explained matters. 

'‘Well, if you ever know who I am, I guess I ’ll 
have to tell you. I ’m Mrs. James Grant, formerly 
Miss Nancy Watson. Him and me was married 
three days ago in Benton.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


The Severing of Old Ties 

l^OR a few seconds no one spoke. Arthur, 
who had been lying on the lounge, sat up, 
muttering an oath under his breath. Again the 
voice of the stranger broke the silence. 

^‘Sayin’ as I ’m in my own husband^s house, 
I M like to be asked to set down and take off my 
bunnit. You may not think it, but I ’m tired and 
cold.” 

Jennie stood as if paralyzed. It was Agnes 
who stepped proudly forward, and said: 

“Excuse us, madam, but your communication 
was so unexpected you must overlook our sur- 
prise. Will you be seated and allow me to take 
your wraps?” 

It was the tone of perfect politeness, nothing 
more. Apparently, the absence of anything like 

13 193 


194 Agnes Grant’s Education 


a welcome did not in the least disturb the bride. 
She began unpinning her shawl. Suddenly she 
cried : 

“I hope you ain’t going to set down, Jim, and 
leave them things out in the rain. He can help 
you with the trunks,” with a nod toward Arthur. 

To the surprise of all, Arthur rose without a 
word, and, drawing on his coat, followed his father. 
Mrs. Grant removed the rest of her wraps, and 
sat bolt upright, looking around her. 

She was a woman of fifty, with a thin, dark 
face, small gray eyes, lips that were tightly closed, 
and a small quantity of iron-gray hair that was 
drawn straight back and confined in the smallest 
possible space by three brass hairpins. Her dress 
was a brown merino, plainly made, but neat and of 
good quality. 

‘Ts this the best room?” she demanded of 
Gretchen, the sisters having escaped to the kitchen, 
ostensibly for the purpose of serving the supper 
which had been kept warm for their father. 

‘‘Yes, ma’am,” Gretchen replied, in her soft 
tones. “It is a poor place, but the hearts are 
kind.” 

“Humph ! I did n’t s’pose things was quite 
so bad as this. It ’s easy to see Jim ’s no 


The Severing of Old Ties 195 

manager, but it won’t take long to bring about 
a change.” 

Jennie had started to re-enter the room. She 
shrank back as if from a blow. ^‘Jim !” How 
dared this vulgar woman, who had come to fill 
her dear mother’s place, speak of her father in 
that way ? She was speaking again. 

“Make a good strong cup of tea, girls,” she 
called. “I ’m jest done out.” 

The story of Mr. Grant’s marriage was a short 
one. Miss Watson Had owned a little home, and 
earned her living by carpet-weaving. Mr. Grant 
was an old acquaintance. Tired of single life. Miss 
Watson decided to marry the friend of her youth. 
Perhaps Mr. Grant was never more surprised than 
when he found he had really promised to make the 
energetic spinster his wife. She brought to her 
new home her household goods, including her 
loom. 

Had it not been evident that it was the inten- 
tion of the new wife to oust himself and family 
from their present quarters, Arthur would have 
been indifferent. As it was, he was helpless. 

Jennie’s hurt was the sorest. She had given 
so much of her life to her father that it grieved 
her to be thoughtlessly set aside. Agnes was 


196 Agnes Grant’s Education 


resentful, and a little glad that the business affairs 
of the family were to be taken in such capable 
hands. 

Mrs. Grant was not, in any way, an unworthy 
woman. She was bustling, with a propensity for 
having her own way. In her eyes idleness was a 
sin. She said to her stepdaughters: 

^^Now, girls, I hope there won't be any hard 
feelin' betwixt us. I 've married your father, and, 
of course, I expect to be mistress of his house. 
I know well how Jennie has stood by him all these 
years. I hope neither one of you will ever think 
I do n't want you here." 

When Agnes came home the next week the 
effects of the vigorous rule that had been insti- 
tuted could already be seen. Arthur had rented 
a dilapidated house on an adjoining farm, and was 
about to move his family there. He held his father 
to the agreement about working the place on 
shares, and Mrs. Grant was obliged to submit to 
this. 

‘‘But, remember, the farm must be worked 
well," she said, grimly. “I do believe, Jim Grant, 
there 's 'nough gone to waste on this place sense 
you lived here to have made a rich man of you." 


The Severing of Old Ties 197 


Also, there was a change in the quiet ways of 
the household. Mrs. Grant took charge of the 
cooking, and Jennie was told what part of the 
work would be hers. 

“Jest as soon as Arthur’s folks git out I ’ll put 
my loom up there at the head of the stairs. Then 
you can do the work, Jennie, while I weave. If 
you do that I ’ll give you part of the money I earn, 
for it will be no more than right.” 

The home-going of Agnes was very different 
than in the dear old days when Jennie and Bertie 
had so looked forward to her coming. The plan 
of going away to school looked more attractive 
than ever. 

One spring afternoon Jennie drove over to the 
schoolhouse after her sister. On the way home 
she said: 

“Agnes, I wish you and I could make a little 
home somewhere. If where you teach next year 
we could rent a couple of rooms, I could do the 
work and take in sewing.” 

Agnes shook her head. “It would be nice, but 
I do n’t see how we could do it. After one year 
more I shall have saved enough to start at college, 
and then you would be alone.” 


198 Agnes Grant’s Education 


Jennie said no more. Suddenly a bright tear 
fell upon the shabby glove that covered her hand. 

'‘Why, Jennie, what is it?” 

“You will think it foolish, Agnes, but it hurts 
me so to think that none of you need me any 
longer.^’ 

“I should think you would be glad to be free,” 
Agnes said, a little impatiently. 

Agnes did not mean to be unkind. Still, her 
careless words hurt her sister. The subject was 
dropped, and Jennie never referred to it again. 

A few weeks later Agnes found, upon reach- 
ing home one Friday night, that a wee baby had 
come to Arthur and Gretchen. It was a boy, with 
a face strangely like that of the young teacher 
who bent over him. 

“He looks like you and me, Arthur,” she said; 
then added, quickly : “I wish he was as fair as 
Gretchen, then he would be good as she is.” 

Arthur laughed heartily. “I hope he will be 
exactly like you,” he declared, for, notwithstand- 
ing her scoldings and snubbings, he was proud of 
his bright young sister. “You may name him,” 
he went on. “I can guess what you will call him.” 

“No,” Agnes replied, to his unexpressed 


The Severing of Old Ties 199 

thought. ^‘There can never be but one Bertie to 
me. I think we will call baby Max, if you both 
like it.” 

Over Gretchen’s pale cheek flowed a wave of 
pink. “Thank you, dear heart. You understand.” 
And, drawing the hand of Agnes to her lips, the 
mother covered it with kisses. Max had been her 
father’s name, and Agnes had pleased her as Arthur 
would not have thought of doing. 

Gretchems life was a hard one. She was never 
impatient. Arthur had a pleasant greeting, no 
matter how long he had absented himself from 
home. Gretchen was a great favorite with the 
elder Mrs. Grant, her industry especially pleasing 
that busy woman. 

Agnes was invited to spend a part of her va- 
cation with the Crandals, who had purchased a 
cottage at Clear Lake, twenty miles distant. Mabel 
and her mother would be alone. Donald had gone 
abroad, and Paul was absent on a sketching tour. 

The face of Jennie clouded when Agnes told 
of this invitation. She had so looked forward to 
the stay of Agnes at home. In a moment she 
had mastered her disappointment, and was discuss- 
ing the subject cheerily. 


200 Agnes Grant’s Education 

Agnes had decided to return to Orr for another 
year. She was anxious to do this, for she felt that 
her work there was an important one. So she bade 
her pupils good-bye, remained at home a week, 
then went to Clear Lake for a month. 

The time passed pleasantly. Mrs. Crandal was 
too much of an invalid to admit of gaycty; yet 
with books, a rowboat, and Mabel’s companion- 
ship, Agnes felt that she had nothing more to ask 
for. 

On her way home Agnes spent a night at Wal- 
ters with Mrs. Kent. 

''Heard from Jennie lately?” Aunt Mary asked, 
as after tea they carried their chairs out on the 
vine-draped porch. 

"I had a letter last week.” And Agnes leaned 
forward to watch the movements of a ruby-breasted 
humming-bird that was hovering over the blos- 
soms of the honeysuckle. 

"She was here the first of the week, and staid 
a couple of days. She did n’t mention anything in 
particular in her letter, did she ?” asked Mrs. Kent, 
an exultant strain creeping into her voice. 

The attention of Agnes was aroused. "Why, 


The Severing of Old Ties 201 


no, I do not remember that she did. What do 
you mean, Aunt Mary?’’ 

Mrs. Kent nodded her head mysteriously, 
‘^ust you wait and see. I think Jennie would 
rather tell you herself. Don’t look so puzzled, 
child. It ’s only good news, and I ’m sure Jennie 
deserves all the happiness that can come to her.” 

Agnes assented to this. She was about to 
question her aunt further, when the arrival of Edith 
prevented. The matter passed from Agnes’s mind. 
Early the next morning Uncle Mark drove out to 
Grant farm with his niece. 

To the great delight of Agnes she found Jennie 
alone, Mr. and Mrs. Grant having accompanied 
some neighbors on a berrying expedition. The 
sisters had much to talk about. Agnes described, 
with her old-time vividness, the things she thought 
would interest Jennie. It was some time before 
she noticed the work upon which the latter was 
engaged. 

^‘Jennie, what are you making?” 

‘‘A new dress.” And she held up the soft, 
dove-colored cashmere. “Aunt Mary gave it to 
me. Is it not pretty ?” 


202 Agnes Grant’s Education 

“Beautiful/’ Agnes replied, regarding with 
amazement Jennie’s blushing cheeks. “I do not 
understand. Sister, what is it?” 

Jennie laid down the sewing, and rose to her 
feet. “Come out of doors, Agnes. I can talk 
better there.” 

Without a word Agnes followed her sister to an 
apple-tree that grew back of the house. Jennie 
sat down on the grass, and Agnes silently placed 
herself at the side of her sister. 

“Agnes, I am to marry Guy Whitney the first 
week in September.” 

Agnes gave a start, but did not speak. Marry ! 
Jennie marry! And it seemed as if the solid old 
earth had swung out of its accustomed orbit. Guy 
Whitney, of all men! He was a wealthy farmer, 
living a mile away; a good and intelligent man, 
whose wife had been dead several years. Agnes 
thought for a moment of the ease and comfort 
that would come to her sister ; and the girl’s heart 
overflowed with glad pride. Then there came a 
thought of her own life with Jennie gone, and she 
grew sad. 

“Tell me all about it,” she said, faintly. 

“There is not much to tell,” Jennie answered. 


The Severing of Old Ties 203 


laying her head in the lap of Agnes. “You know, 
Guy has been very kind to me for a long time, 
and — well, Agnes, I learned to care for him. When 
I found out that my love was returned I thought 
there was never any one so happy as I was. Guy 
is so good! He says you are to make your home 
with us.” 

“O Jennie, Jennie, I can’t bear it!” and the 
hot tears rained down the face of Agnes. “I am 
glad you are happy, but Guy Whitney had every- 
thing else ; he had no right to you. I am afraid I 
shall hate him. I am all, all alone now!” 

Tears stood in Jennie’s eyes. She gently drew 
her sister’s hands down from the girl’s face. “Lis- 
ten, dear, I would never have left father alone. 
He does not need me now, and you — Agnes, you 
know you thought it impossible for us to make a 
home together. What had the future in store for 
me? I shall love you just as well as ever. You 
must not say wild things. Remember I love Guy, 
and have a right to make him happy.” 

There was a brief silence. Overhead a bird 
trilled out a song of gladness, and the soft breeze 
rustled the leaves. Agnes was conscious of a new 
and a nameless grace in her sister’s face. 


204 Agnes Grant’s Education 


'‘I ’m glad, dear,” she said, humbly. “I mean 
I am going to be glad that you are glad. Of course 
Aunt Mary approves — and father?” 

Jennie smiled. ^‘Yes, only they are so sur- 
prised. Aunt Mary insists on making a quiet little 
wedding for us. Then I will go to my own home. 
Agnes, life is very bright to me now.” 

Agnes bent over her sister in quick sympathy 
with her mood. As for herself, she had never felt 
so lonely. Jennie had always been her own, and 
now — something rose in her throat and choked 
her. 

'‘Mother and Bertie in heaven,” she thought, 
"and father, Arthur, and Jennie all married and in 
their own homes. Yes, I am all alone.” 

Seeing the look of pain in Jennie^s eyes, the 
younger sister tried to put away the thought of 
self and think only of the other’s joy. After a 
little she succeeded in appearing like her usual 
self. Then the look of perfect content came back 
to the face of the bride-elect. She was sure all 
would be well. 

It was a beautiful September day when a few 
friends gathered in the home of Mrs. Kent to 
witness the marriage of Guy Whitney and Jennie 


The Severing of Old Ties 205 


Grant. The deft fingers of Agnes and Mabel had 
transformed the prim rooms. In the parlor golden- 
rod was everywhere, filling the vases, and entwined 
with smilax, completely covering the wall that 
would serve as a background for the bridal party. 
In the dining-room were bouquets of purple asters 
and ferns, while the center of the long table was 
occupied by an artistic mound of purple and amber 
grapes arranged with their own green leaves. 

Agnes, in the simple white graduating dress 
of two years before, was everywhere. Even ca- 
pable Aunt Mary hurried the girl away from dress- 
ing the bride to make sure the preparations for the 
supper were perfect. 

declare, Agnes,^’ Mrs. Kent exclaimed as 
the girl swiftly smoothed the folds of the elder 
woman’s heavy black silk, do n’t know how we 
would ever have got through this day without 
you. You have remembered everything. The 
flowers, the flavoring for the ice-cream, and I even 
heard you caution Guy not to forget the minister.” 

Agnes smiled a little wearily, but Aunt Mary 
did not notice and ran on. 

‘T will make a wedding for you, too. Of course 
you will marry some day.” 


2o6 Agnes Grant’s Education 


“Perhaps not,” Agnes said, absently. Then she 
threw back her shoulders, and a rapt look came 
into her eyes. “I do so wonder what my future 
life will be! It is all before me. I can earn the 
money and finish a college course. O, I will make 
true the things of which Bertie and I used to 
dream !” 

Mrs. Kent shivered a little. She did not like 
the fits of abstraction into which Agnes some- 
times fell. “Uncanny,” was the only word she 
could apply to the mysterious look in her eyes. 

“There come Gretchen and Arthur,” she ex- 
claimed, evidently glad of an interruption. “I will 
go and meet them, while you take one more look 
round to see if everything is all right. Remember 
to tell Mrs. Hardy about the cream for the coffee.” 

A half-hour later the bride and groom entered 
the parlor. Jennie looked sweet in her dove-col- 
ored draperies, and upon her face was a look of 
serenity. 

Soon all was over. Congratulations and good 
wishes had been showered upon the husband and 
wife, supper had been served, the guests had de- 
parted, and Agnes stood at the gate, watching the 
carriage containing Mr. and Mrs. Whitney disap- 


The Severing of Old Ties 207 

pear from sight. Before they had started Guy had 
taken the hand of Agnes in his own, saying: 

“Remember, Agnes, that Jennie’s home is al- 
ways your home. I want you to feel that I shall 
consider it a pleasure to have you live with us.” 

The half-resentment that she had cherished 
towards him fled at these words. She looked the 
thanks she could not speak, held Jennie close in 
her arms for a moment, and then she was alone. 

The girl’s spirits rose as she turned her gaze 
to the sun low in the west. The fleecy clouds were 
touched with crimson and orange. A profound 
silence brooded over the scene, broken only by the 
laugh of a child in the distance. 

“Jennie is safe in the shelter of a good man’s 
love,” Agnes said to herself, “and I — all the world 
is before me. A strange sense of exhilaration pos- 
sesses me to-night. I am not alone, for Christ’s 
love and care encompass me. He will lead me in 
his appointed way.” 

A moment longer she lingered there. Then 
she hurried up the walk to lift the burden of re- 
storing the house to its usual order from her aunt’s 
shoulders. 


CHAPTER XIV 


College 

'T^HE next Monday after the wedding Agnes 
began her second year’s work at Orr. It was 
pleasant to find herself once more surrounded by 
the familiar childish faces. Another source of 
pleasure was the knowledge that the school was 
in much better condition than it had been at the 
beginning of the year before. 

She boarded with the Bedfords, and they were 
kind and considerate. Notwithstanding all these 
things, she found her work difficult. Her pupils 
were often careless, and sometimes disobedient. 
She knew many of them really wished to do right, 
but there were days when her patience failed. 

“I was so impatient to-day,” she exclaimed, 
one evening, as she entered the neat sitting-room 
where Mrs. Bedford was busy at her sewing ma- 
chine. “I resolve every morning that, no matter 
208 


College 


209 


what happens, I will not speak hastily. It goes all 
right the earlier part of the day; but in the after- 
noon I get tired, and before I know it the impatient 
words are spoken.” 

Mrs. Bedford looked up sympathizingly, but 
did not speak. Agnes went on: 

‘‘Why is it, Mrs. Bedford ? I often wonder how 
you acquired the art of always being calm and 
gentle.” 

Mrs. Bedford laughed. “I think your partial 
eyes are blinded. As to why you speak impatient 
words, Agnes, I think it is because you have im- 
patient thoughts.” ^ 

The dark eyes of the girl opened to their widest 
extent. “Of course I do, and so would you if you 
had fifty children under your care.” 

There was no reply. Agnes studied the face 
of her friend for a moment. Then she knelt by 
the side of the sewing machine, placing one de- 
tainifig hand upon Mrs. Bedford’s work. 

“Tell me about it,” she said, coaxingly. “I see 
something in your eyes that in those of another 
person would be a scolding. In yours I think it is 
a blessing.” 

Mrs. Bedford took the girl’s face between her 

14 


210 Agnes Grant’s Education 

hands and kissed the full scarlet lips. “It is neither 
a scolding nor a blessing, but just a little ‘preach- 
ment.’ The best way to kill weeds is to root them 
up, not to cut off the tops. You rely too much 
on your own strength. When your heart is en- 
tirely filled with the love of Jesus there will be no 
room in it for impatient thoughts.” 

“I do n’t just understand,” Agnes said, speaking 
in a low, deliberate voice. “How can I help being 
impatient when I see so many things go wrong?” 

“You might try being sorry instead. Remem- 
ber, the most of these things are done through 
thoughtlessness. Get near enough to Christ so you 
can see, in his way, the good there is in your faulty 
pupils.” 

Then Mrs. Bedford was called away. Agnes 
pondered her words long and earnestly. They 
helped her; but still there were times when she 
allowed something to come between her and Christ. 

Two things conspired to rob Agnes of the peace 
that was, as a daughter of the King, her inherit- 
ance. One was an undue amount of thought and 
planning concerning her future. The college plan 
daily grew in importance. Not that this was 
wrong; only in her eagerness to enter upon what 


College 


21 I 


she thought would be the best part of her life, she 
underestimated the value of the present. 

The influence of this was secondary to that of 
her loneliness. She had not accepted Mr. Whit- 
ney’s generous offer of a home. She was too 
proud to do this, and her father openly expressed 
a desire for her to remain with him. Then shd 
recognized the truth of Aunt Mary’s assertion — 
that the newly-wedded couple would more readily 
adapt themselves to each other’s ways if their home 
was not shared by a third person. In her old home, 
for the first time in her life, Agnes missed sympa- 
thetic love and devotion. 

Not that Mrs. Grant was unkind. Agnes had 
learned to respect the sterling good qualities of 
the woman who presided over the old home. She 
saw that, under the efficient management of the 
new mistress, the farm was more productive than 
it had been for years. Her father, too, was well 
cared for, although fretted at and deprived of his 
usual ease. 

Agnes had a strange feeling for Arthur. He 
was her brother, and she could not pass by the 
mystic bond of kinship. It hurt her pride and 
alienated her affection to see him neglect his fam- 


212 Agnes Grant’s Education 

ily and degrade his manhood. He drank, and the 
amount of work done by him depended upon the 
scoldings and threatenings of Mrs. Grant. 

Gretchen’s face grew careworn. She learned 
to assist at the loom, thereby helping to clothe 
her little ones. Jennie and Agnes assisted in this, 
for they all loved the winsome children. Agnes 
was always gentle with her mother, but her indig- 
nation sometimes blazed out toward Arthur, only 
to be met with a scornful laugh. 

One pleasant feature of the winter was a visit 
from Agnes’s well-lov^d old teacher, Mrs. Gregory, 
formerly Miss Dunning. Mrs. Gregory had once 
taught at Orr, boarding with Mrs. Bedford. She 
spent several days there, besides staying over Sun- 
day with Agnes at the home of Jennie. 

Professor Gregory was still instructor in Latin 
at Maynard College. Mrs. Gregory was much 
interested in Agnes’s plan of attending college, 
and urged her to come to Maynard. 

will do all in my power to help you,” she 
urged. “I am sure I can plan a way to lighten 
your expenses, providing you are not afraid of 
hard work. Lven if you can remain but one year. 


College 213 

before again teaching, you could doubtless obtain 
a better position than now.’^ 

Agnes listened with sparkling eyes. What did 
she care for hard work ? With this goal of her am- 
bition so near, she could do anything. 

It was decided that Agnes should go to the 
home of Mrs. Gregory the next autumn, a few 
days, and before the beginning of the fall term. 
Agnes worked away bravely, cheered by this hope. 

Frank Raymer was once more one of her pupils. 
He was greatly changed. Agnes had roused his 
better nature, and encouraged him in every effort 
to rise above his old life. Although his parents had 
never attempted to give him a more exalted ideal 
of existence, they saw the change in him with de- 
light. There was talk of sending him to Walters 
to school the next year. Agnes confidently looked 
forward to seeing him a good man. 

It was with a feeling of sincere regret that the 
young teacher bade her pupils good-bye. She un- 
derstood that the real result of her influence upon 
them could not be known until years had passed. 

Much of her vacation was spent with Jennie. 
The Whitney farmhouse was commodious and 


214 Agnes Grant’s Education 


well furnished. A girl was employed to help with 
the work. Agnes often found herself looking at 
her sister and wondering if it could be true that 
this fair, gracious matron was really the same sister 
who had worked so hard and exercised such rigid 
economy. It was not that Jennie was changed in 
usefulness or affection. It was only that she filled 
the position of the wife of a rich man as well as she 
had filled that of the daughter of a poor one. 

Vacation sped away, and Agnes left Walters 
for Maynard. It was late in the afternoon when 
she reached her destination. The day was warm 
and bright, the trees had begun to don their au- 
tumnal robes, and the air was laden with the spicy 
fragrance of ripening fruit. 

She looked eagerly around. Maynard was a 
small inland town. The college had been founded 
some years before, and its growth and prosperity 
had been one of the main features in the upbuild- 
ing of the city. From where Agnes stood she could 
see, crowning a hill, a group of stately buildings 
embowered in trees and surrounded by a well-kept 
campus. 

Agnes had forgotten her surroundings when a 
voice recalled her. 


College 


2IS 


‘‘Please, is this Miss Grant ?” 

She turned to find a bright-faced boy of twelve 
at her side. 

“Mrs. Gregory sent me,” he said, observing the 
surprise of Agnes on hearing her name from the 
lips of a stranger. “She said for you to give me 
your checks. We can take your valise in the car- 
riage.” 

He led Agnes to where a docile little pony and 
a low phaeton were in waiting. Ten minutes later 
she was ascending the steps of a pretty Queen 
Anne cottage. 

Mrs. Gregory met her at the door. “You dear 
girl! Welcome to Maynard! You are to be my 
guest until enrollment-day. Let me go up to your 
room with you, and we can talk while you get rid 
of the dust of your journey.” 

After a few minutes in the daintly-appointed 
guest chamber, Mrs. Gregory led the way down to 
the parlor. A half-hour later a bell summoned 
them to the dining-room. 

There Professor Gregory and another gentle- 
man were waiting. The professor was a tall, 
heavily-built man, with a swarthy face and a long 
black beard. Agnes was awed by his impressive 


21 6 Agnes Grant’s Education 


presence, and half expected he would address her 
in Latin. It was a slow, carefully-modulated voice 
that, in the most perfect English, inquired concern- 
ing her journey, and then said: 

“Miss Grant, allow me to present Mr. Daly, 
my cousin and a junior in college.” 

Agnes bowed to the slender, effeminate youth, 
who surveyed her through an eye-glass. Then 
they took their places at table, and the con- 
versation ran on about the opening of the new 
year. 

Agnes listened eagerly. Was it really herself, 
Agnes Grant, who was a guest at the table of an 
eminent professor ? Was it true that in a few days 
the door of the world of culture would swing wide 
open for her to pass through ? 

It was nearly a week before the beginning of 
the term. The new student was made familiar 
with the college buildings and much of the routine 
of the school work. There was a long discussion 
regarding a suitable boarding-place for her. The 
girl’s idea was to rent a cheap room and board 
herself. 

“It is the cheapest way,” Mrs. Gregory ad- 
mitted one evening when they were sitting on 


College 


217 

the porch. I do not like to see you attempt 

it. It soon comes to be a question as to how little 
both of time and money can be spent in preparing 
meals. It is really, in many cases, a process of 
slow starvation.” 

Agnes smiled faintly. She was finding out that 
the old pride was not dead. This week in the beau- 
tiful home of Mrs. Gregory might prove to be a 
poor preparation for the life of strict economy she 
must lead at Maynard. 

She was sitting upon a Mexican blanket which 
was spread upon the porch floor. Her hands were 
clasped in her lap; her plain black dress brought 
out the vivid coloring of her face, and her head was 
resting carelessly against the carved pillar at her 
side. 

Mrs. Gregory’s lips quivered. The girl was so 
pretty, so eager to meet life and its mysteries! 
Would what she was about to say cloud that face? 
Which predominated in the nature of Agnes, gold 
or dross? 

'‘There is another way, Agnes,” she said at 
length. 'T have hesitated a little about speaking 
of it, fearing you might consider the position a 
menial one.” 


21 8 Agnes Grant’s Education 

She paused. Agnes did not speak, but sat up- 
right and looked intently in her friend's face. 

“I think I told you that Mrs. Miner, our next- 
door neighbor on the east, is to furnish meals to 
a club of students this year. She wants to find 
a girl who will wait upon table in return for her 
board. This morning she came in to see if I knew 
of any student who would do this. I asked her to 
wait until evening before making any further effort 
to find a person for the place." 

Another brief pause. The eyes of the girl had 
wandered away to the bank of dark clouds lying 
low in the western horizon. The color glowed a 
little brighter in her cheeks, and her breath came 
hurriedly. 

'^The work would not be difficult — " Mrs. 
Gregory had again commenced speaking, when 
Agnes interrupted her. 

^'Mrs. Gregory, what would be the social status 
of a girl who fills that place ?" 

Mrs. Gregory nervously clasped her hands. So 
that was the question to be settled? 

“With the teachers and better class of stu- 
dents, just what it would be under any circum- 


College 


219 


stances. With the thoughtless and giddy, the po- 
sition they usually give a working girl. I will not 
deny, Agnes, that had you made up your mind to 
take the position you might have met some snubs, 
but few of us go through life without something 
of that sort.” 

“Perhaps not,” Agnes replied, a little doubt- 
ingly. “I asked merely out of curiosity. I shall 
take the place, including the snubs.” 

“Do you mean it, Agnes? I thought — ” and 
Mrs. Gregory stopped. 

“You thought I would be ruled by my pride. 
I will be perfectly frank with you, my friend. I 
do not expect to enjoy the work — I would prefer 
riches to poverty. But an education I must have, 
and here is a chance to make my hoarded dollars 
go further in pursuit of it. Now the next thing 
will be a room.” 

“I have a plan,” Mrs. Gregory said, rising. 
“Now I must step over and tell Mrs. Miner. In 
the meantime I will think about the other prob- 
lem.” 

Agnes dropped a few rebellious tears over the 
letter she wrote Jennie that night. The next morn- 


220 Agnes Grant’s Education 

ing, at the breakfast table, Professor Gregory 
closely scanned her face, but he found it bright 
and undaunted. He nodded his head and mur- 
mured to himself : 

‘‘Yes, I think she will do.” 

Soon after breakfast Mrs. Gregory broached 
the subject of the room. She told Agnes that 
there was a low chamber over the dining-room 
that could be fitted up comfortably. 

“This room the professor and myself wish you 
to occupy,” she went on. “It is warmed from 
the furnace, and the price which we will ask you 
will include your washing done with our own.” 

Agnes could not speak. She hid her face on 
the other’s shoulder, and sobs shook her form. 

“We know your independent nature too well 
to offer to give you the use of the room,” Mrs. 
Gregory said, evidently talking so that Agnes 
might regain her composure. “I shall set the price, 
and you must not demur. When your fellow- 
students call upon you you will receive them in 
my parlor. I can not refrain from telling you that 
this offer would not have been made had you re- 
fused that of Mrs. Miner.” 

On the morning of enrollment-day Agnes 


College 


221 


walked to the college with Professor Gregory. 
The massive buildings looked imposing in the clear 
atmosphere of the autumnal morning. 

“It is my Alma Mater,” the professor said, as 
if reading the girl's thoughts. “The best years 
of my life, thus far, have been spent here. I hope. 
Miss Grant, that some time you can look back and 
say the same. This may not seem possible to you 
a week from this morning. Do not be disheartened 
by any difficulties you may encounter.” 

They were entering the door of the main build- 
ing as he finished speaking. Agnes stole a timid 
glance at his face. What a genial look peered out 
from his dark eyes! 

The next moment she followed him into a 
large apartment, where Dr. Taylor, the president 
of the college, was seated at a writing-table. He 
was a young man to occupy such a responsible 
position. His face was clean-shaven, and his gray 
eyes were keen and piercing. Rising, he bowed 
in response to Professor Gregory’s introduction, 
and began at once to question Agnes regarding her 
acquirements. 

Professor Gregory had already advised her re- 
garding the courses, and she had decided upon 


222 Agnes Grant's Education 

the classical. Dr. Taylor was surprised to find 
this new student so self-possessed and able to tell 
him exactly what she wanted. He gave her five 
minutes' time. Everything was arranged, and not 
one unnecessary word spoken. Then he handed 
her over to Mrs. Lee, the preceptress, and turned 
to the next newcomer. 

Mrs. Lee was a large, matronly-looking woman, 
whose white hair contrasted strongly with her fresh 
face. She introduced Agnes to several students, 
asked her where she roomed, and urged her to try 
to feel at home. 

Agnes smiled a little grimly. She never tried 
to feel anything. She did feel many things, and 
one of them was an uncomfortable sense of aloof- 
ness from the merry youths and maidens who were 
discussing vacation time and the coming year's 
work. Mrs. Lee had hurried away, and Agnes 
paused near a window to study the scene before 
her. How easy it was to tell the new students ! 

‘‘They nearly all look as forlorn and awkward 
as I feel," she thought. “Now, there is that boy 
with the horrid green tie. I really believe it would 
be a relief for him to cry, and I know it would be 
for me if I could indulge in that luxury." 


CHAPTER XV 


A New Friend 

A GNES was about to leave the room when a 
■Fx sweet voice close at her side said: “Pardon 
me; but I am sure you are a stranger like my- 
self. If you are half as lonely as I am, you will 
be glad to have even another stranger speak to 
you. My name is Genevieve Marchmont.” 

The girl was a little creature, her head com- 
ing only to the shoulder of Agnes. She was fair 
and pale, with large childlike blue eyes and soft 
brown hair. 

“I am glad,’’ Agnes said, heartily. “I am Ag- 
nes Grant, just enrolled as a freshman, classical 
course.” 

“The same description fits me in every re- 
spect,” and Miss Marchmont laughed gleefully. 
“I can not say it so confidently yet. I am so glad 
to be here !” 

Seeing the inquiry in the other’s face, she 
223 


224 Agnes Grant’s Education 


went on: “There are so many things I want to 
do — ^things, I am sure, a Christian college will 
teach me to do. I have just begun to serve 
Christ, and there is so much I am ignorant of.’' 

Agnes started. The words were said so 
quietly, yet so earnestly, that they seemed like a 
message from a well-known friend. Involuntarily 
she stretched out her hand, and Genevieve laid 
her own in it. 

As both girls had finished their enrollment, 
they left the college. Their paths lay in the same 
direction; so they strolled down the street to- 
gether. Agnes learned that Genevieve was an 
only child, and concluded that her parents were 
wealthy. 

The boarding-place of Miss Marchmont was 
directly across the street from the residence of 
Professor Gregory. Bidding her new acquaint- 
ance good-morning, Agnes passed in at the side 
door, and up to her room. 

It was low, with a sloping ceiling, but a win- 
dow looked to the south and another to the east. 
The walls and ceiling were tinted a pale green, 
the floor was covered with a brown carpet, and 
long white curtains were at the windows. The 


A New Friend 


225 


bed and washstand were separated from the rest 
of the room by a pretty screen. Before the east 
window stood a little writing-table and an easy- 
chair cushioned in green. There were a couple 
of rockers, hanging shelves for books, a student 
lamp, a few simple pictures, and some plants. 

Agnes knelt for a moment by the easy-chair. 
Then she brushed her hair, took a white apron 
in her hand, and, descending the stairs, crossed 
to the home of Mrs. Miner. With dinner her 
duties began. 

It was a hard hour for her. Places at table 
were to be assigned, and there was much talking, 
as well as some grumbling. The few students 
present to whom Agnes had been introduced 
seemed to have forgotten her. There was one 
exception to this — a Miss Flora Hunt, who rec- 
ognized her and loudly praised her for her ^‘com- 
mendable industry.” This was hard to bear, but 
not quite so bad as the absent-minded theological 
student who addressed her as “my good girl.” 

Agnes wanted no dinner that day. She hur- 
ried up to her room, all the brightness gone from 
her face, and vaguely conscious of a longing to 
get away from every one. 

15 


226 Agnes Grant’s Education 


An hour later Mrs. Gregory rapped at the 
door. She had wisely concluded that it would 
be best to leave Agnes to herself for a time. 

It was a serene-faced, determined young wo- 
man who opened the door and eagerly drew her 
friend within the room. 

“Well, I lived through it. Do n^t pity me. I 
could not stand that. Say something funny, if 
you must talk about it.” 

“I am not going to let you think about it. Our 
own dear little pony, Tam O’Shanter, is waiting 
below. Get your hat, and I will drive you down- 
town to get your books. Then we will go out 
to the Ormsby peach-orchard. 

Agnes hesitated. Mrs. Gregory put one hand 
under the girl’s chin, and studied her face. 

“Yes, you had better say it.” The matron’s 
voice had a ripple of amusement in it. 

“You are so kind to me, dear Mrs. Gregory! 
Still, would it not be as well for you not to walk 
and drive with a girl who earns her living as I 
do mine?” 

“You dear, foolish child! I earned my living 
for years — nay, I am sure I earn it now. So does 


A New Friend 


227 


Professor Gregory. You are our friend and our 
sister, Agnes. Christ is our Elder Brother. Get 
your hat.’^ 

Agnes obeyed. 

A week passed by. At the end of that time 
Agnes understood the real meaning of the words 
Professor Gregory had spoken on the morning 
of enrollment-day, “These could not be the best 
days of her life.” 

It was not that she was disappointed either in 
instructors or methods of teaching. Both came 
up to her expectations, and she saw that it would 
be possible for her to make rapid advancement. 
It was simply that she felt herself to be alone. 
She was outside of the merry groups. She for- 
got that these girls who had so much to say to 
each other were old students, and had many in- 
terests in common. 

The fault was largely her own. She met the 
good-natured, if somewhat careless, advances of 
the girls, especially of those she served at table, 
with a severe dignity. Then she forgot the many 
other strangers who were doubtless as lonely as 
herself. On one point she was firm: she would 


228 Agnes Grant’s Education 

show these students that mentally she was their 
peer. 

One gray, windy afternoon she was returning 
from recitation when she was joined by Gene- 
vieve Marchmont. 

“O Miss Grant,” Genevieve said, wistfully, 

wish you would tell me how you always man- 
age to recite Homer so faultlessly. I am getting 
almost discouraged.” 

“Why, I will help you with the lesson,” Agnes 
said, impulsively. “It is so easy and delightful.” 

Genevieve’s face flushed with pleasure. “You 
are so kind! Why can not you come up to my 
room now, and we can study together?” 

Agnes agreed to this, and followed her com- 
panion to a pretty upper parlor. From this a 
sleeping-room opened, and still farther beyond 
there was a glimpse of a dainty dressing-room. 

Genevieve pulled a luxuriously-cushioned chair 
up before the grate, where a tiny coal fire burned. 
“Take this seat. It seems so good to think I 
have entered enough into the charmed circle of 
college life to have another girl in my room. I 
have been lonely and a little homesick. All I 
could do was to try to make friends with the other 


A New Friend 


229 


new students who looked desolate. You were 
not one of that class, Miss Grant. You looked 
stately and absorbed in the lesson.” 

They both laughed. Agnes thought that in 
some cases wealth made little difference. Her 
gaze wandered round the room. On the table 
stood a silver bowl filled with hot-house roses, 
the low oaken case was crowded with choice 
books, and over the mantle hung a fine copy of 
Raphael’s "‘Madonna of the Chair.” 

The face of Agnes grew tender as she gazed 
upon that sweet yet majestic countenance. Gene- 
vieve laid her hand gently upon that of her new 
friend. 

“Does it not bring your own mother close to 
you?” she asked, tremulously. “Dear mother! I 
never understand so well what she is to me as when 
I stand before this picture.” 

Tears filled the eyes of Agnes. “My mother 
went to heaven six years ago,” she said when 
she could speak. 

“I am sorry I spoke as I did. I pity you so 
much! Still, you have her love just the same as 
when she was here.” 

After a time they took up their books. A pleas- 


230 Agnes Grant’s Education 

ant half-hour passed. When they parted, it was 
understood that the next afternoon they would 
study together in Agnes’s room. 

That evening at supper some one spoke of 
prayer-meeting. Miss Hunt turned to Agnes, who 
was deftly handing the tea, and said: 

“Miss Grant, you may not know that there is 
prayer-meeting in the chapel every Thursday 
evening. The invitation is general, and it would 
be perfectly proper for you to go after your work 
is done.” 

Many eyes were turned upon Agnes. Miss 
Hunt’s lack of tact was deplored by many, yet 
they could not forbear a mental query as to how 
it would be met by this proud-faced girl. 

Every vestige of color faded from the cheeks 
of Agnes. It was not the pallor of grief or fear, 
but that of fierce and sudden anger. Her voice 
never faltered as she said: 

“Thank you. Miss Hunt. I would not think 
of intruding the presence of a working girl into 
such a gathering.” 

A dead silence followed. Miss Hunt grew un- 
easy under the indignant glances showered upon 


A New Friend 


231 


her. Agnes saw none of this; for she had car- 
ried her tray to the kitchen. 

When she returned, her head was held proudly 
aloof, and her face still wore that strange look. 
She attended to her duties with exactness. When 
all was done, she stole across the lawn and up 
to her own room. 

After a time Mrs. Gregory’s rap sounded upon 
her door. '‘Will you come downstairs, dear? 
Miss Olin and Maude Hamblin have called to ask 
you to accompany them to prayer-meeting.” 

It was a moment before Agnes replied. When 
she did, her voice was hard and unnatural. 
"Please make my excuses, Mrs. Gregory. My 
head is aching too hard for me to come down.” 

"I did not know you were ill,” Mrs. Gregory 
exclaimed. "May I come in?” 

There was no reply. Pushing open the door, 
she found Agnes lying on the bed, her face buried 
in a pillow. 

"Please, please do n’t talk to me,” was the 
girl’s reply to all questions. "The greatest favor 
you can do me is to leave me alone.” 

Martha Gregory was a wise woman. She 


232 Agnes Grant's Education 


kissed the flushed cheek of her young friend, 
saying : 

''I will leave you. Tell it all to your Friend, 
the Christ, Perhaps to-morrow you can tell 
me.” 

Very early the next morning a timid knock 
sounded at the kitchen door of the house where 
Genevieve Marchmont boarded. A sleepy-look- 
ing girl opened the door, to find Agnes waiting 
without. 

"‘When Miss Marchmont comes down, please 
give her this,” and Agnes placed a note in the 
maid’s hands. 

Genevieve found the note at her pJate when 
she came down to breakfast. She opened it, and 
read : 

“Dear Miss Marchmont, — When I invited you 
to my room you did not know my position. I am 
a servant, doing work in the dining-room of Mrs. 
Miner in return for my board. I release you 
from your promise. Yours, 

“Agnes Grant.” 

“Poor, sensitive girl!” Genevieve thought, as 
she laid down the note and took her cup of cof- 


A New Friend 


233 


fee from the mistress of the house. must help 
her.’^ 

In the meantime Agnes was quietly perform- 
ing her morning duties. Several of the girls 
greeted her with friendly cordiality. Maude 
Hamblin said, frankly: 

*‘Miss Grant, I know you were hurt by what 
Flora said last night. Please forgive her. She 
is not cruel, only thoughtless. Do not think your 
work makes any difference with us. We consider 
you one of our number.” 

Agnes could not withstand the friendly look in 
Maude’s eyes. Neither could she speak. She 
hesitated a moment, then laid her hand in the 
one that was outstretched. 

^^Do n’t try to say a word.’^ Maude’s tone was 
low and sympathetic. ^‘1 know how you feel.” 

When Agnes went back to her room, she found 
a note upon her table : 

“Dear Miss Grant, — I, too, am a servant, the 
servant of the Lord Jesus, your Master. I need 
your help. I want to give you my love, so I shall 
come this afternoon. Your friend, 

“Gene^viEve; Marchmont.” 


234 Agnes Grant’s Education 


There was a new light in Agnes’s dark eyes 
when, an hour later, she took her place in chapel. 
She was learning a new lesson. 

At the close of the service, as she passed down 
the steps, she came face to face with Dr. Taylor. 

‘‘Good morning. Miss Grant. I hear the most 
extravagant praises of your recitations ; but I 
missed you at prayer-meeting last night.” 

“I will be there next week,” Agnes replied, as 
Flora Hunt and two other girls from the club 
came up. “I need the help I hope to find there 
too much to stay away.” 

Something in her voice caused the Doctor to 
look closely into her face. “I trust you will not 
look in vain for that help. We also need your 
aid;” and, lifting his hat, he passed on. 

The girls paused to speak with Agnes. Miss 
Hunt said: 

“I am glad to see that you are always at 
chapel. Miss Grant.” 

Agnes’s face flushed, but she smiled faintly, 
and hurried on. She heard Belle Olin say, im- 
patiently : 

“Flora, why will you speak so patronizingly 
to Miss Grant. I think she is Very bright. 


A New Friend 


23s 

and — ” But the rest of the sentence was lost to 
Agnes. 

Genevieve was waiting for her when the after- 
noon recitations were over. Upon reaching the 
house, Agnes took her guest up to her own room. 

Genevieve looked around, approval on her 
sunny face. “How cozy you are here!” she said. 
“A sunrise window is the best of all. Now, will 
it trouble you too much to explain something in 
to-day^s lesson to me? I do not grasp new facts 
with the ease you do.” 

In a few weeks Agnes began to grow accus- 
tomed to her position. Mrs. Gregory had set to 
work to bring her protegee into contact with the 
people who would exert the best influence upon 
her. 

Agnes was a favorite with the busy president. 
He considered her one of the most promising mem- 
bers of her class. To Mrs. Lee, Agnes became 
strongly attached. Professor Gregory she greatly 
honored, but she was not quite at ease with him. 
She stood in awe of his scholarly attainments 
and grave dignity. 

The Christmas vacation she was to spend at 
home. A few days before leaving Maynard she 


236 Agnes Grant’s Education 


received a long letter from Miss Barr, who was 
still abroad. The letter was written from Flor- 
ence, where the traveler was domiciled for the 
winter. After many congratulations on ‘Agnes’s 
success in entering college, Katherine wrote: 

“This will reach you just before Christmas. 
May it be a happy season to you! The pin I in- 
close is a little gift from myself; the other is one 
of the gifts of Eloise.” 

The pin was a beautifully-carved silver arrow. 
Eloise’s gift was a check for $25. The quick 
pride of Agnes blazed up at sight of the bit of 
paper. Then she remembered in whose name it 
was sent, and the tears of sympathy with an- 
other’s loneliness swept away her first feeling. 

The vacation was a pleasant one. Even grim 
Mrs. Grant was glad to have Agnes at home again. 
Mr. Grant was not well. His daughter was 
shocked to see how he had failed in the few months 
of her absence. Jennie’s delight in the presence 
of her sister was unbounded; for the two had 
never been separated for more than a month be- 
fore. 

Agnes spent a day with the Crandals and an- 
other with Aunt Mary. Mabel had been obliged 


A New Friend 


237 


to give up going away to study music, as her 
mother was still an invalid. Paul was at home. 
He was reading Roman history and talking much 
of a great picture — a Roman subject — that he 
was to commence in the spring. 

“I can not see how Mabel can always be so 
patient with Paul,’' Agnes confided to Jennie on 
the evening of her return from Walters. 
should, at least, tell him what I thought of his 
wasting his life as he is doing.” 

^‘Yes, I think you would,” Jennie replied, 
gayly. am not sure, though, but that Mabel’s 
way is the better one.” 

wish I had had the gift of patience con- 
ferred upon me at my birth,” Agnes said, rising, 
and, going over to the window, she stood for a 
moment looking up at the stars which gemmed 
the heavens. Then she turned to her sister: “J^^" 
nie, what is wrong?” 

Jennie hesitated a moment. “I think, dear, 
it is self. Not that you are selfish. Agnes, you 
would give all, and even yourself, but your way 
always seems the only way to you. You do not 
trust enough.” 

Agnes stood a long time pondering these words. 


238 Agnes Grant’s Education 

She wished to see herself with the eyes of others. 
She was self-dependent; but did not her loneli- 
ness in life force her to depend upon herself? 
Thus far she was surely right. Was she too 
confident that her plans for the future were right? 
Could she be reconciled if God’s way should prove 
a different one from hers? 


CHAPTER XVI 


Duty 


INKS returned to Maynard, and the remain- 



^ ^ der of the school year passed uneventfully. 
She learned to think less about her work. Gradu- 
ally she came to see that she was not the only 
girl who labored to help pay her expenses, while 
many of the boys did the same. 

She became interested in the social and re- 
ligious life of the college. As she came really to 
know the teachers and pupils, she saw many in- 
stances of the nobility of a culture based on the 
love of Christ. 

The intimacy between Agnes and Genevieve 
continued. The sunniness of the nature of Gene- 
vieve, and her readiness to do little deeds of 
kindness for others, were helpful to Agnes, while, 
had it not been for the assistance she received 
from her new friend, Genevieve would not have 
been able to keep up with her class. Agnes was 


240 Agnes Grant’s Education 

troubled over the health of the little heiress, fear- 
ing that she would not be able to complete the 
course she had so sanguinely entered upon. 

Much of our heroine^s shyness toward Pro- 
fessor Gregory wore off. Sometimes she shrank 
from his plain, blunt words; for he never tem- 
porized. On his part, he had become much in- 
terested in the girl of whom his wife was so 
fond. As a pupil, she suited him, her favorite 
studies being his specialties. 

The Gregorys were much interested in the 
question of the return of Agnes for the next year. 
Considerable of her scanty store of money yet 
remained, and to this Miss Barr’s gift had been 
added. Professor Gregory urged her to return, 
saying he would advance her what money she 
needed. 

"‘Then, I am sure I can secure a good position 
for you,” he added. ‘‘You can soon repay the 
loan, and in a few years save enough to complete 
your course.” 

All saw the wisdom of this. Jennie wrote 
that Guy would gladly loan Agnes the needed 
money, and Aunt Mary made the same offer. 
Agnes was deeply grateful to these kind friends. 


Duty 


241 


She decided to return for another year, and ar- 
ranged with Mrs. Miner to perform the same 
work as before. 

The week after Commencement, Professor 
Gregory was to start East on a business trip. 
His wife wished to accompany him. She asked 
Agnes to remain in charge of the house for two 
weeks. 

“It will shorten your vacation at home,” she 
said, “but I will pay you well, and you can do 
sewing for yourself. Mary will be here to do the 
work and keep you company.” 

Agnes readily consented. She was anxious to 
reach home, but was glad of an opportunity to 
return one of the many kindnesses showered upon 
her. 

Two weeks soon slipped away, and the day 
arrived when the Gregorys were to reach their 
home. It was an oppressively warm afternoon. 
A bank of dark clouds lay low in the west, and 
an occasional roll of distant thunder sounded 
on the air. Agnes and the faithful Mary put 
the house in perfect order and planned a dainty 
supper. 

When all was done, it was nearly time for the 
16 


242 Agnes Grant’s Education 


arrival of the train. Agnes carried her book — 
a copy of '‘Midsummer Night’s Dream” — out on 
the veranda. She had yielded herself to the charm 
of the poet so completely that she did not hear 
the approaching step on the walk. It was not until 
a voice asked, "Is this Miss Grant ?’^ that she 
looked up. 

It was a lad whom she recognized as one em- 
ployed at the depot. She bowed assent to his 
question, and he placed an envelope in her hands. 
She knew it was a telegram, and supposed it was 
from the professor. Tearing it open, she found 
that it contained these words: 

"Mrs. James Grant died suddenly this morn- 
ing. Come at once. Guy Whitney.” 

The*^ paper dropped from the girl’s hands. 
White and faint, she leaned back in her chair. 
Before her eyes as a vision rose the scene of 
this dead woman’s first entrance into the Grant 
family. 

"Will there be any return message?” the boy 
asked, alarmed at the strange look on the face 
before him. 

By a strong effort of will, Agnes controlled 


Duty 


243 


herself, and rose to her feet. “I think not,’’ she 
said, huskily. “Perhaps you can tell me what 
time the first train for the North leaves?” 

Before he could reply, a hack deposited Pro- 
fessor and Mrs. Gregory at the gate. It was a 
relief to put the dispatch in the professor’s hands, 
and know that everything, would be arranged 
for. 

She could not leave Maynard until seven 
o’clock. Before this time her trunk was packed 
and everything possible done to make her night 
journey a comfortable one. Professor Gregory 
himself drove her to the station. The long-threat- 
ened storm seemed near at hand, so Mrs. Gregory 
bade her good-bye on the porch. 

“Write to me as soon as you can, dear,” she 
said, holding the slender form in a close embrace. 
“If this should make necessary any change in your 
plans for returning, notify us at once. And re- 
member, girlie, you are your father’s only com- 
forter now.” 

Her words wakened a vague sense of uneasi- 
ness in the mind of Agnes. She kissed her 
friend with a lingering tenderness, and hurried 
into the carriage. 


244 Agnes Grant’s Education 


There was time for few words during the drive. 
After giving her the ticket and checks, which he 
had already procured, the professor said, ear- 
nestly : 

“I do not think I need to tell you, Agnes, how 
you have grown into our hearts. Were you my 
sister, I could not be more interested in you. I 
have a presentiment that much will take place 
before we meet again. I know your aspirations, 
child. God grant that you may achieve all that 
you desire ! Only remember, Agnes, that the 
greatest thing on earth is to do the will of God.” 

A flash of vivid lightning threw the strong 
dark face at her side into sudden brightness. 
Agnes was deeply moved. 

“Thank you, dear Professor Gregory. Thank 
you for these words and for the countless kind- 
nesses you have heaped upon me. Good-bye.” 

She was lifted from the carriage, hurried up 
the steps, there was a firm pressure of the hand, 
and he was gone. Leaning from the window, 
she kept the college in sight as long as possible. 
Then, after a quick glance at her fellow passen- 
gers, she settled back in her seat, and tried to 
collect her scattered thoughts. In a few minutes 


Duty 


245 


the storm broke. On through a landscape one 
moment aflame with blinding light, the next 
shrouded in utter darkness, the train sped. 

There was a tedious waiting where she 
changed cars; so it was four in the morning 
when she reached Walters. The shock and the 
all-night journey had robbed her of her bloom. 
It was a pale, sober-faced girl that caught eagerly 
at Guy Whitney’s hand. 

'T am so glad you are here, Guy! Tell me all 
about it.” 

He looked at her pityingly. “You poor, fright- 
ened child! In five minutes you shall be at Aunt 
Mary’s. After you have had your breakfast and 
heard the whole story, I will take you to your 
home. Jennie is there with your father.” 

Agnes did not reply. She shivered and drew 
closer to Guy. There was something uncanny 
in the familiar streets of Walters viewed at that 
unusual hour. The rain had ceased, but a dull 
gray fog enveloped all things. The splashing of 
the horse’s hoofs in the pools of water that stood 
in the street was the only sound that broke the 
silence of that short ride. 

It seemed like another world when Agnes 


246 Agnes Grant’s Education 

found herself in Aunt Mary's well-remembered 
sitting-room. Seated close by the stove — for she 
was cold and damp — she listened to the story of 
her stepmother's death. 

There was not much to tell. Mrs. Grant had 
been usually well. On the morning of the day 
before, she had been busy getting breakfast when 
her husband went to the barn. When he returned 
she was lying on the floor, dead. The family had 
known that she suffered from heart-disease, but 
had not thought her in any danger. 

“She was a good woman," Mrs. Kent remarked, 
as she deftly beat the eggs for an omelet. “Of 
course, I was disgusted with them for marrying 
at their age, but, with all her queerness and her 
sharp tongue, she was a. good Christian woman. 
It leaves your father in a bad way." 

“And the shock of her death has completely 
overpowered him," Guy added, entering the room 
as Mrs. Kent stopped speaking. 

Agnes ate but little breakfast. She was anx- 
ious to be again upon the way. Guy was ready 
in a short time. Mrs. Kent promised to come 
out to the farm that afternoon and remain until 
after the funeral. 


Duty 


247 


As they drove along, the sun peeped out from 
behind the fleecy clouds, which soon rolled away, 
leaving his glory unhidden. The brightness was 
reflected from myriads of raindrops that still 
clung to the trees. Soon the song of the wild 
birds was making the air ring. 

Agnes threw back her head, and soon the 
wan look began to fade from her face. Always 
easily impressed by the aspect of nature, the young 
girl was unconsciously soothed by the beauty of 
the morning. 

They soon reached the farmhouse. Jennie ran 
to meet Agnes with outstretched arms. For a 
moment the sisters clung together ; then Mrs. 
Whitney whispered: 

''Come to father. He has wanted you so 
much.’’ 

James Grant was hovering over the kitchen 
fire. He had not been well for months, and had 
learned to depend upon his active, bustling wife. 
Now that he was suddenly deprived of her sup- 
port, his mind had been going out to his strong, 
self-reliant daughter. Jennie and Arthur had 
other ties — Agnes was still his. 

When she came to him and softly laid her 


248 Agnes Grant’s Education 

head upon his shoulder, James Grant’s self-con- 
trol vanished. Drawing his child into his arms, 
he murmured: 

‘'You are all I have left, Agnes. Yes, you 
are still mine.” 

And Agnes forgot all else in her efforts to 
comfort him. 

The next day Mrs. Grant was buried. All 
present recalled with a sense of sadness the many 
miles that separated the last resting-place of the 
dead woman from that of her kindred. It was 
known that a niece of the deceased was her heir, 
and a telegram had been sent her. No response 
had been received. In a few days a letter came, 
stating that illness had prevented the writer from 
attending her aunt’s funeral. 

The will was read. The furniture, dishes, bed- 
ding, silverware, etc., were divided among Jennie, 
Gretchen, and Agnes. One hundred dollars was 
given to Mr. Grant, the remainder of the little 
property going to the niece already mentioned. 

At the end of two weeks Agnes began to 
think some plan should be decided upon. The 
family acted as if they thought she was to re- 


Duty 


249 


main at home, yet they must know this would be 
impossible. She broached the subject one after- 
noon when Jennie and Gretchen were both at 
the old home. 

“The fall term at Maynard will soon begin,” 
she said, a little nervously, as she smoothed the 
curls of Nellie, who was leaning against her chair. 
“What will father do then? I will stay with him 
as long as possible. I am glad to give up my 
vacation to him, but I think some plan should 
be settled upon.” 

Jennie did not look up from her sewing. Her 
breath came a little faster. Was she to see Ag- 
nes in a new light? It was Gretchen who spoke 
in her slow, deliberate way: 

“Will you go back, Agnes? I thought you 
were to stay with father.” 

“O, I can not do that,” and the hot blood 
leaped into Agnes’s cheeks. “You know my ar- 
rangements to return were all made before this 
happened.” 

“But what will father do?” Gretchen asked, 
hesitatingly. “He can not stay here alone.” 

“Of course he can not,” and Agnes looked ap- 


250 Agnes Grant’s Education 

pealingly at Jennie. The elder sister did not 
raise her head, and, after a little, the younger one 
went on defiantly: 

“He will have to go and live with one of you. 
Don’t you think that would be best, Jennie?” 

Mrs. Whitney laid down her sewing, and 
looked straight into the eyes of Agnes. “That 
is for father to decide. If he wishes to live with 
me, he will be very welcome.” 

“Or Arthur and Gretchen might move here,” 
Agnes suggested. “You would not mind, would 
you, Gretchen?” 

“Not about moving here. The house is better 
than ours. And I would be glad to do for the 
poor old man ; but, Agnes, he wants you.” 

Agnes bit her lip impatiently. “Do n’t you 
see that to give up my chance at Maynard means 
to give up everything?” she asked. “In a few 
years I will be where I can help take care of fa- 
ther. Surely, Jennie, you do not think it my 
duty to stay here?” 

Jennie hesitated. Before she spoke, Agnes 
added : 

“To give up all my hopes of a useful future — 
Jennie, you don’t know what it means.” 


Duty 


251 

“Dear sister, I think I know. I once gave up 
all my plans for the future. It was not so dreary 
for me, because I had you all to love me. Agnes, 
I think you ought to know that Dr. Miller says 
our father can not live two years.’’ 

“But if I give up this chance I may never 
have another,” Agnes persisted, the tears stand- 
ing in her eyes. “Tell me, Jennie, do you think 
I ought to do it ?” 

“I can not decide that for you,” was the firm 
reply. “I will say that, to me, it looks as if it 
was the work God had given you.” 

Just then Mrs. Kent entered. “I drove over 
to see how Agnes gets on housekeeping,” she an- 
nounced. “See, I stopped and got your mail. I 
am glad, Agnes, you can stay here. It will be 
for only a little while.” 

“Aunt Mary, you know I am going back to 
Maynard,” Agnes cried, rebelliously. “Are you 
against me, too ?” 

“Against you !” and Mrs. Kent coolly surveyed 
her niece’s flushed face. “No, I am not against 
you; but I plainly see, and so will you after a 
little, that you must stay.” 

Agnes saw that one of her letters was from 


252 Agnes Grant’s Education 

Mrs. Gregory. Tearing it open, she carefully 
read the words of tender helpfulness. 

“Although you did not say so,” the letter ran, 
“we concluded you would be obliged to give up 
school this year. Do not grieve over it, dear. It 
is our Father’s plan for you. His way is best.” 

Agnes threw down the letter with bitterness 
in her heart. “I will not give it up,” she thought. 
“I can not.” 

Her guests remained until after tea. When 
they were gone, Agnes sat down outside the door 
to think. 

She leaned her head against the rough bark 
of the logs that formed the outside wall of the 
house, and closed her eyes. How was this mat- 
ter to be adjusted? 

“Agnes!” It was her father’s voice. “Ag- 
nes, child, where are you?” 

“Here, father, here at the door,” and, surprised 
at the tone of genuine alarm in his voice, she hast- 
ened to the door. “What is it?” 

“Nothing; only I thought you had gone and 
left me. Agnes, I have not been a good father, 
but stay with me now. Stay with me, child; it 
will be only a little while.” 


Duty 


253 


The hot impatience died in her heart as she 
looked in his pleading face. “Do n’t worry, fa- 
ther,^’ she said, gently. “I am not going away 
now.” 

“I have been thinking about your mother to- 
day,” he went on, garrulously. “I disappointed 
her in so many ways, but I loved her. I think, 
Agnes, none of you know how well I loved her. 
Now she is lost to me forever.” 

Agnes shrank before the words as before a 
blow. She had been so anxious to go out in the 
world and do good. In her own home was her 
father living his last days without Christ. Was 
her work there ? 

Agnes slept but little that night. Again and 
again she went over the arguments for her re- 
turn to Maynard. Against them all stood out 
her father’s piteous, wrinkled face. Before 
morning’s soft light crept into the room she had 
arrived at a decision. She would remain with 
her father. Perhaps it was her duty. Every one 
thought it best for her to sacrifice a life of use- 
fulness and happiness for this. She would do it. 
Once again Agnes Grant decided for herself. 
She chose the right course, but not in the right 


254 Agnes Grant's Education 


way. What should have been her joy and de- 
light — what God meant as a great blessing — was 
accepted as an unwilling task. 

She made known her decision at once. Agnes 
was honest, and any word of commendation was 
promptly checked. 

“I am doing it because you expect it of me, 
because it seems left for me to do,” she said to 
Jennie. 

The face of the elder sister grew white at 
these words, and Agnes broke into tears. 

‘‘Jennie, you don’t know, you don’t know! I 
want to do right, but it hurts me so!” 

“Darling sister,” Mrs. Whitney’s voice was 
hoarse with emotion, “I would so gladly bear the 
burden for you if I could. I love Guy, and am 
very happy with him. Still, there are times when 
I think perhaps it would have been better if I 
had never married. I would willingly take fa- 
ther home with me. Guy would be glad to have 
him come, but the poor old man clings to his 
home and to you. O Agnes, if I could bear it 
for you!” 

“Jennie, don’t!” Agnes cried, in an abandon- 
ment of grief. “I want to do right, but surely 


Duty 


255 


it was not wrong for me to want to go back to 
Maynard. If I could be sweet and gentle like 
you! What shall I do, sister?” 

“Ask Jesus to help you to do his will,’* was 
Jennie’s grave answer. 

Agnes did ask, but with the idea still in her mind 
that she was wronged. Therefore, little real help 
was received by her. 


CHAPTER XVII 


Genevieve Again 

L IEE was very dull for Agnes. The Crandals 
-'were away, Mrs. Crandal’s ill-health having 
induced them to try a change of air. Mother and 
daughter were domiciled for the summer at the 
White Mountains. Paul had sailed for Europe, 
and Donald was practicing law in Detroit. Mabel 
wrote they would not return to Walters for some 
time — perhaps would never reside there again. 

A letter from Miss Barr reached Agnes about 
this time. She was soon to be married to David 
Swift, the son of the lady whom Katherine had 
accompanied abroad. Mr. Swift was a clergyman, 
and through her intercourse with the Swifts Miss 
Barr had come to renounce her old doubts and 
accept Christ. The letter was one long song of 
happiness. 

^‘There is one cloud on my sky, Agnes,” the 
letter ran. “That is the thought of the influ- 
256 


Genevieve Again 


257 

ence I exerted during the days of my teaching. 
How much I might have done for the Master! 
I owe it to your sweet, childish faith that I did 
not wander away into the barren fields of unbe- 
lief. God bless you, dear, for what you were to 
mer 

Katherine went on to say that they would 
make their home in Rome for the present. Mr. 
Swift was devoting his time and means to re- 
lieving suffering among the poor, and had charge 
of a mission there. In this work Katherine was 
anxious to assist. 

Agnes rejoiced in her friend's happiness. Still, 
she felt as if, one by one, the ties that bound her 
to the past were being severed. 

There were days when Agnes was very un- 
happy. Days when she could not open the be- 
loved books, and even the sight of the magazines 
sent her by Mrs. Gregory was painful. What did 
it matter how she spent her time? Was she not 
shut out from the world of improvement and cul- 
ture? Agnes was not trusting. She was griev- 
ing because she could not order her own life. 

One day late in August an unusual sense of 
perverseness seemed to possess her. All the 

17 


258 Agnes Grant’s Education 


morning she allowed herself to repine at her lot. 
At the dinner-table she announced her intention 
of going blackberrying. 

*‘It is too warm for you,” Mr. Grant said, 
with a thoughtfulness strangely at variance with 
his usual manner. “To-morrow I will go and 
pick some for you.” 

Agnes shook her head. “I will go. I shall 
stifle if I do not get out under the open sky.” 

Mr. Grant sighed. Agnes hurried through 
her work, and was soon ready to start. 

“It does no good for me to wear gloves,” she 
said, impatiently, as she selected a pair too soHed 
and worn for other service. “The life I lead, my 
hands might as well be brown and scratched.” 

The blackberry patch was at some distance 
from the house. She went along the road until 
she came to a gate opening into a wheat stubble. 
Crossing this, she entered the woods, and soon 
found the long vines laden with rich, purple-black 
fruit. 

Agnes found her wretched mood yielding to 
the charm of the summer afternoon. The light 
filtering down through the softly moving branches 


Genevieve Again 259 

overhead, the chirruping of the birds, the beauti- 
ful and curious forms of vegetable life, and the 
changing loveliness of sun and shade — all these 
quieted her, and her heart came to be in tune with 
nature’s loveliness. 

When her pail was filled, she sat down to rest 
before beginning the walk home. am glad I 
came,” she thought. ‘‘There is much of beauty 
even here. Am I doing wrong in trying to bring 
my life down to the commonplace?” 

The lengthening shadows warned her that sup- 
per time was approaching. She started for the 
house, carrying the pail that was then heavy. 
After passing through the gate she was plodding 
along the dusty highway when she heard a car- 
riage approaching. Agnes’s face flushed as she 
thought of her faded dress and dusty shoes. She 
moved proudly along, and was letting the carriage 
pass without a glance at its occupant, when the 
horse was drawn to an abrupt stop, while a sweet 
voice cried: 

“Agnes Grant! Dear Agnes Grant! Where 
did you come from?” 

Agnes pushed back her coarse, wide-rimmed 


260 Agnes Grant’s Education 


hat, and stared at the speaker. It was Gene- 
vieve Marchmont. She was pale, and there was 
a strange look of weariness on her face. There 
was no mistaking her joy at meeting her old 
friend. The next moment Agnes’s pail of ber- 
ries was standing at the side of the road, and she 
was at the carriage, holding both of Genevieve’s 
daintily-gloved hands in hers. 

They both talked at once, asking and answer- 
ing questions in the same breath. It was some 
time before Genevieve understood the present 
position of Agnes, and had explained her pres- 
ence on that lonely country road. 

The family physician of the Marchmonts had 
most emphatically forbidden Genevieve’s return- 
ing to Maynard. He advised a quiet, out-of-door 
life for her through the summer and early autumn. 
Mr. Marchmont had recently come into possession 
of a farm about two miles from the Grant home. 
The house was roomy and comfortable, and the 
family had come there for a time. 

“We have been there three weeks,” Genevieve 
concluded. “Mother went to the city yesterday; 
so I and Rogers, our faithful old housekeeper, 
are left with only a man and a maid to keep us 


Genevieve Again 26 1 

company. Get in the carriage, Agnes, and I will 
take you home.*’ 

Agnes advanced, then paused. There came to 
her a sudden remembrance of the probable differ- 
ence between Genevieve’s home and her own. 
A hot flush stained her cheek, and she murmured 
some untintelligible words. 

Genevieve bent down and laid one hand on 
the other’s arm. ‘‘Do n’t, Agnes,” she said, coax- 
ingly. “I would gladly give my wealth for health 
like yours. Pity me, dear, and let us comfort 
each other. You left college to do a noble work, 
I to face either death or years of invalidism. I 
did so want to do something to make the world 
happier, but I am not afraid to die. It is all right. 
God knows best. I love you, Agnes. No matter 
how poor your home is, I want to know and re- 
spect you in it.” 

Few girls could have spoken thus to Agnes 
Grant. Since the day the two girls had parted 
at Maynard, Genevieve had come to regard her 
life as a brief span, and she hungered to crowd 
it full of helpful deeds. Surely she could help 
Agnes. 

Agnes was not proof against this appeal. She 


262 Agnes Grant’s Education 

brought her pail of berries with her into the car- 
riage, and promised that no silly pride should 
stand between her and her friend. 

Genevieve staid to tea. When Mr. Grant was 
introduced, she went forward with outstretched 
hand to greet him. 

‘‘I am glad to know Agnesis father,’’ she said, 
simply. ‘‘You are not well, I see. I am glad 
that she can be with you.” 

Agnes, busy over the supper-table, colored. 
However, her father replied in a voice as gentle 
as that of Genevieve. 

“Thank you, Miss Marchmont. I am indeed 
blessed in having so good a daughter.” 

There was no feeling of embarrassment as 
they gathered round the table. The legacy of 
Agnes’s stepmother had provided decent linen 
and dishes, as well as silver knives and forks. 
Genevieve greatly enjoyed the fresh berries. 

“Tell me I may come again,” she said, when 
Agnes accompanied her to the gate. “Come the 
day after to-morrow, and spend the afternoon 
with me. I will send for you. Mother will be 
home then, and I want you to meet her.” 

Agnes promised. She resolutely shut out all 


Genevieve Again 263 

bitter thoughts from her heart, and resolved to 
try to comfort Genevieve. 

The two girls spent many hours together. 
Both Mr. and Mrs. Marchmont were delighted 
with Agnes. Genevieve’s sweet thoughtfulness 
for others, the unselfish giving up of her cher- 
ished plans, unconsciously to both, softened the 
resentment of Agnes regarding her own plans. 

Mr. Grant continued to fail. He became too 
feeble to work, and sat dozing by the fire. At 
times he roused, and his mind was keen and alert. 
He appeared to have regained his long-lost in- 
terest about the affairs of the great world, and Ag- 
nes found it a real pleasure to read to him. Gene- 
vieve was a great favorite of his. 

There was talk of the Marchmonts going south 
for the winter. It all depended upon the con- 
dition of Genevieve’s health. 

One morning Agnes rose and went carefully 
downstairs, hoping not to disturb her father. 
She kindled a fire in the kitchen stove, and, 
opening the door, stood looking across the fields 
to the forest, where the dying summer was mar- 
shaling his hosts in radiant beauty. 

The girl drew a long breath. “And there shall 


264 Agnes Grant’s Education 


be no night there,” she quoted, reverently. “Even 
heaven itself can be little fairer than this October 
morning.” 

Just then a quick step rang out, and a boy em- 
ployed by the Marchmonts came round the house. 

“Please, Miss Grant,” he began, breathlessly, 
“Miss Genevieve is took awful bad, and her mother 
wants you to come over. I went for Dr. Miller 
in the night.” 

“What is the mater?” Agnes asked, a dull 
fear tugging at her heart. 

“She ’s been bleeding at the lungs.” 

Mr. Grant entered the room, and Agnes ex- 
plained the matter to him. 

“You must go at once,” he said. “Never 
mind my breakfast. I can make myself a cup of 
coffee. Poor girl! Yet, why should I pity her? 
All is well.” 

Agnes ran away to change her gingham wrap- 
per for a neat black dress. Before starting she 
kissed her father, and said: 

“I will stop and ask Gretchen to come over 
after she gets her work done.” 

“Thank you, Agnes. God bless you, my 
child !” 


265 


Genevieve Again 

Gretchen was getting breakfast. She smiled 
assent to the request of Agnes. “You stay all 
day. I will go over and have father come home 
with me. I will take good care of him, Agnes.'’ 

“I know you will, Gretchen. I do n't know 
what I would do without my good sister," Agnes 
replied, and into the placid blond face of Gretchen 
leaped a flush of joy at the kind words. 

Little Nellie, still in her snowy night-dress, 
peered out of the inner room. “Come and let 
me love you. Aunt Agnes,” she coaxed. “O my 
sweet auntie !” as Agnes caught her up and cov- 
ered her face with kisses. 

The next moment she was again seated in the 
carriage, and in a short time reached the March- 
mont home. Running up the walk, she entered 
the long, low hall. There Mrs. Marchmont met 
her. She was a delicate, sweet-faced woman. At 
that moment there was a look of pain in her eyes. 

“Dear Mrs. Marchmont !” — and Agnes put her 
arms round the slight form — “is it so very bad?” 

It was a moment before the mother could say : 
“The immediate danger is past. But I under- 
stand now that I can keep my darling but a little 
while.” 


266 Agnes Grant’s Education 

Agnes could not voice a reply. She stroked 
the mother’s hand, and Mrs. Marchmont went on : 

'‘She was not well yesterday afternoon. I 
was uneasy, and insisted on sleeping with her. 
About one a curious noise roused me. O Agnes, 
I can never forget the agony of the moment when 
I raised myself on my arm and saw the blood 
of my child staining her pillow.” 

Agnes led the agitated woman to the parlor. 
It was but a momentary faltering. In a few sec- 
onds Mrs. Marchmont was outwardly composed, 
and accompanied Agnes to the room of Gene- 
vieve. 

Dr. Miller sat by the bed. Close at the other 
side sat Mr. Marchmont. He was a strong, active 
man, always engrossed in business, and very am- 
bitious. 

Genevieve, white and wan, smiled up at her 
friend. Talking was forbidden; so Agnes spent 
the day sitting in perfect quiet, her dark eyes 
studying the face that was as colorless as the pil- 
low upon which it rested. 

Agnes had ample time for thought that day. 
She pondered long the difference between Gene- 
vieve’s cheerful giving up of life and her own 


Genevieve Again 


267 


impatience over the thwarting of her plans. What 
made the difference? Was it not because Gene- 
vieve trusted God with a more perfect trust? 

The doctor came again in the afternoon, and 
promised that the invalid should be up in a few 
days. He lingered in the hall to urge upon Mr. 
Marchmont the necessity of taking his daughter 
to Florida as soon as possible. The father ex- 
pressed himself as ready to start as soon as Gene- 
vieve could travel. 

Agnes felt that she must go home for the 
night, and Mr. Marchmont drove her. They had 
hardly passed the gate when he said, in a hard 
tone: 

‘T am trying to settle a grave question, Miss 
Grant. Can God be a God of love, and take my 
child from me?” 

The young girl grew pale. Did he expect her 
to answer that question? What could she say? 
Did she need to say aught save the truth? 

‘T have never thought much about these 
things,” he said, musingly. '‘When Genevieve was 
what she called converted, she began to do much 
to help the poor and suffering. First of all, she 
wanted a college education; wanted to learn how 


268 Agnes Grant’s Education 


to help others, she said. I consented just as I 
would to a trip abroad or anything else she might 
have asked for. Last June she came home so pale 
and wan, and I began to fear. I do not care for 
her to be educated. I do not care for what she 
calls her work — it is my child that I want.” 

“Does not your own love show you something 
of how God loves her?” Agnes asked timidly. 
“If he did not love her, Mr. Marchmont, if she 
did not trust that love to the utmost, how could 
she face death so calmly? Genevieve knows all 
that you fear. God is her stay.” 

A softer light came into the man’s eyes. “But 
I can not lose her — ” he began when Agnes inter- 
rupted him. 

“You will not lose her. God will take her home 
to guard her from every pain, as you would fain 
do. She will be yours still, always yours.” 

He did not reply. No more was said until he 
lifted her from the carriage at her father’s door. 
Then he spoke. 

“Thank you. Miss Grant. God must be love, 
or my trusting child could not so joyfully give 
herself into his keeping. Good-night.” 

Agnes looked after him, a fervent prayer ris- 


269 


Genevieve Again 

ing from her heart. As she turned to open the 
door she breathed another prayer, a prayer not 
for Genevieve’s father, but for her own. 

There was a bright light and fire within, and 
her father was sitting with folded hands. She 
paused to tell him of Genevieve; then, on house- 
hold cares intent, bustled out to the kitchen. 

There were traces of the thougtfulness of 
Gretchen. The teakettle was boiling, the table 
was laid for two, there was a loaf of the fresh 
brown bread Agnes liked so well, and a dish of 
luscious yellow peaches all ready for supper. 

Genevieve rapidly regained her lost strength. 
In two weeks she was strong enough for the 
journey southward. The day before her departure 
she came to the Grant farmhouse. Mr. March- 
mont brought her, and was to return for her in 
two hours. 

‘T could not go away without seeing you, sir,” 
she said, letting her hand lie for a moment in that 
of Mr. Grant. ‘‘Sometimes I ask myself to which 
one of us the summons will come first. Will I come 
back, and, if so, will I find you here? Ah, God 
knows. It is all right, sir, is it not?” 

The man’s face grew thoughtful. “Not in just 


270 Agnes Grant’s Education 


the way you mean/’ he said, hesitatingly. “You 
see, Miss Marchmont, I have cherished a feeling 
of distrust toward God all my life. Now I see 
differently, but the memory of those disloyal years 
rises before me when I attempt to approach him.” 

'Do you doubt him now?” 

“No,” was James Grant’s low-spoken reply. “I 
did doubt. I withstood the daily life of the best 
wife man ever had, also the trust of my boy. I 
used to say that they were naturally good. When 
I saw Agnes, whose nature is so like my own, give 
up the future she 30 desired, when I saw her gain- 
ing the victory over self — then I knew the love of 
Christ had transforming power.” 

“And it is boundless,” Genevieve said, a radi- 
ance not of earth lighting up her face. “Promise 
me, my friend, that you will let Agnes lead you 
the one step forward, for there is only one step 
between you and Jesus.” 

“I promise,” he said solemnly. 

Agnes had heard all and turned away to hide 
her tears. If she had surrendered willingly how 
happy those words would have made her ! 

The time came, all too soon, for Genevieve to 
say good-bye. She promised to write often, and 


Genevieve Again 271 

said, as she held the hands of Agnes in her own: 
^‘You have been so much to me, dear. I hope to 
come back to you, but that only God knows. You 
will do much real work in the world, do much in 
the name of Jesus. That was my ambition. It is 
all right now, but I seem to have a personal interest 
in your work. If you ever falter, Agnes, remem- 
ber I asked you to work for two.” 

In a few broken words Agnes tried to tell what 
Genevieve’s love had been to her. Speaking of 
Maynard, Genevieve asked; 

“Are you still sorry?” 

Agnes paused before replying. She was more 
surprised than was Genevieve when she was able 
to answer truthfully: 

“No. Every regret has vanished. I am trust- 
ing Christ that his way is best.” 

The two friends kissed each other tenderly. 
Then Mr. Marchmont took his daughter away. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


The Surrender of Agnes’s Will 

NEW and strange peace had been growing 



up in the heart of Agnes. Before she could 
fully yield to its sweet sway, she felt that there was 
a duty she must perform. 

It was the evening of the day the Marchmonts 
had started on their Southern journey. Agnes 
had completed her work, and, bringing the last 
Century sent her by Mrs. Gregory, sat down to 
read to her father. For a little time she sat with 
the magazine unopened in her lap. Then, turning 
to her father, she began hurriedly: 

heard what you said to Genevieve about me. 
It made me very happy, but I fear you think me 
better than I am. Let me tell you the whole 
truth.” 

She told him all. Her impatience and anger 
at the frustration of her cherished plans, and the 
272 


The Surrender of Agnes’s Will 273 

unhappy spirit in which she had accepted the re- 
sponsibilty laid upon her. Agnes did not spare 
herself. She went on to speak of the change so 
lately wrought in her heart, and of how she yearned 
for him to feel the power of God’s love. 

A smile of rare tenderness played about the 
lips of James Grant. “You have told me little 
that I did not know,” he said. “Agnes, I under- 
stand you better than you understand yourself. 
It was a Power stronger than your own will that 
influenced you. You are like me, and the mis- 
take of my life has been to think that whatever 
came in opposition to my will was unjust. You 
felt this, my child, but beyond and above this was 
something that swayed you. No matter how you 
grieved, you have always been kind to me. I see 
the love of Christ manifested in your life. Agnes, 
will you pray with me that this love may be mine ?” 

They knelt in prayer. As Agnes prayed a 
sense of the nearness and gracious tenderness of 
the Father came to her. Peace filled her soul. 
Never before had she so fully accepted the 
blessed companionship of Christ ; never before had 
joy and love so illumined her whole nature. 

At last they rose. One look into her father’s 
18 


274 Agnes Grant’s Education 

face assured her that not alone to her had God 
revealed himself. 

‘‘I will tell Helen that it was you who led me 
into the way,” he murmured, feebly. “It hurts 
me to think of the years in which I have refused 
a love so infinite.” 

The winter slowly wore away. With the new 
experience that had come to Agnes had come also 
a quickening of her mental powers. The text- 
books of last year and the new ones purchased 
in anticipation of that yearns work were brought 
forth, and many an hour was spent over them. 
Returning to Maynard really seemed further away 
than ever, for Agnes spent part of the money so 
carefully saved to purchase comforts for her father. 
She felt that her future was in God’s hands. The 
way would be made plain. 

Genevieve wrote often. Her letters were bright 
and cheerful, yet it was easy to see that the change 
of climate had not done for her all that they had 
hoped. 

Letters came from Mrs. Gregory and other 
friends at Maynard. At Christmas Agnes re- 
ceived wedding cards and a letter from Mabel 
Crandal. She was to marry a friend of Donald’s. 


The Surrender of Agnes’s Will 275 

They would reside in Detroit, and her mother 
would live with them. Paul was still abroad. He 
claimed to be studying art. Mabel wrote sadly 
that he had become an avowed skeptic. 

Still another letter came ; this time from Kath- 
erine. The Swifts were in Rome, happy in each 
other’s society and in the work upon which they 
had entered. Katherine knew of Agnes’s change 
of plan, and wrote most feelingly of the sacrifice 
her friend had made. 

“I don’t like to hear it called a sacrifice,” 
Agnes stopped to say. She was reading the 
letter aloud to, Mrs. Kent, who had come out to 
the farm to spend the day. ''Instead of that it 
is a joy ; the dearest one that could be mine.” 

"You are a greater puzzle than ever to me, 
Agnes,” and Mrs. Kent stole a keen look at her 
niece. "I ’ve been thinking to-day of the after- 
noon when I told your poor mother I would send 
you to school. It was the best investment I ever 
made. Child, I am proud of you. Not only of 
your smartness, but also of your goodness.” 

Smiles and tears struggled for possession of 
the face of Agnes as she kissed the face where 
the years were beginning to leave their traces. 


276 Agnes Grant’s Education 


She knew these were rare words of praise for 
her aunt to speak. 

Mr. Grant worried over the fact that his death 
would leave Agnes alone and penniless. 

‘^The mortgage on the farm has grown until 
there will not be much left/^ he said, mournfully. 

“Never fear for me, father,’^ was always her 
cheery reply. “I can earn my living. Besides, God 
will care for me.” 

“Yes, he will care for you,” the old man re- 
peated. “He has all these years cared for me, 
and his best gift was your love, my daughter.” 

The end came quickly. There was no suffer- 
ing. The lamp of life burned dimmer and dimmer, 
until one sunny April day when Agnes was sitting 
by the bed it went out. James Grant was dead. 

With softly falling tears his children bent for 
the last time over his wasted face. Then they 
laid him with his dead, and Agnes went home 
with Jennie to rest and determine what her next 
step would be. 

This question was soon answered. In a few 
days a letter arrived from Mr. Marchmont. They 
were on their way to the farm. Would Agnes go 
there and see that all was in readiness for them? 


The Surrender of Agnes’s Will 277 

“If you will stay with us until all is over it will 
be a kindness we can never repay,” he wrote. As 
Agnes read the words she saw that the father had 
given up all hope. 

Guy drove her over to the Marchmont farm 
that afternoon. As the housekeeper had accom- 
panied the family, the house had been closed for 
the winter. The man in charge had been notified, 
and he already had the doors and windows open 
and fires in all the rooms. 

Three days later the travelers arrived. Gene- 
vieve was completely exhausted by the journey. 
The strong arms of her father carried her up to 
the pretty room whose windows looked over 
sloping hills to the sunset. She was too weak 
to do more than smile when Agnes bent over her. 

The next day she was stronger. In a few days 
she could sit up for a little time, but Dr. Miller 
only echoed the words of the other physicians 
when he said that there were but a few weeks of 
life allotted the gentle girl. 

One morning when Agnes carried away her 
breakfast tray, Genevieve said: 

“I am going to rest for an hour. Then I want 
you to come and let me talk to you. There is 


278 Agnes Grant’s Education 


something I must say, and I dare not put it off 
longer.” 

Agnes stooped to arrange the pillows, her hand 
resting caressingly on the soft brown hair. Going 
downstairs, she left the tray in the kitchen and 
went out to the long beds in the side yard after 
fresh flowers for the vases. 

She was standing on tiptoe to reach the odor- 
ous purple lilacs that grew close to the wall, when 
Mr. Marchmont appeared. He drew down the 
branch and helped her fill her hands. 

'‘You are to go back to Genevieve after she 
rests, are you not?” he asked. 

“Yes; she said there was something she wished 
to say to me.” 

“I know. I hope. Miss Agnes, you will grant 
the request she is about to make. When you 
hear what it is, remember that both Mrs. March- 
mont and myself desire your consent.” 

Agnes was mystified. Her companion vouch- 
safed no explanation, and when he did speak it was 
concerning another subject. 

“I have learned a lesson since that day I asked 
you about God’s love,” he said, absently, his gaze 


The Surrender of Agnes’s Will 279 

wandering off across the sunlit hills. ‘1 know, 
now, that God does all things well. My darling 
will be safe in his keeping.’^ 

Agnes silently extended her hand. In the fresh 
young face Mr. Marchmont read the sympathy 
thg^ words could not express. 

An hour after this conversation Agnes re- 
entered the sick-room. She carried a cluster of 
lilacs, and laid them in Genevieve’s lap. 

The young invalid sat, surrounded by pillows, 
near an open window. A cheerful wood fire 
burned in the grate, notwithstanding the balmy 
softness of the air that stole in. 

Genevieve bent her head over the flowers. 
'Xittle beauties,” she said, lifting them first to her 
cheek and then to her lips. wonder what the 
flowers of heaven will be like. Ah, me ! I shall soon 
know.” 

"‘Come and sit on this ottoman, Agnes,” she 
went on after a pause. ^Tt is hard for me to 
talk this morning, so you must be content with 
few words. Agnes, there is something I want 
you to do for me.” 

One hand still held the lilacs. Agnes took the 


28 o Agnes Grant’s Education 


other in both her own, and pressed it against 
her lips. 

“You have only to tell me what it is. I shall 
be glad to do anything you wish, my friend.” 

The thin fingers closed over those of Agnes. 
Genevieve began to speak in a low voice : “Agnes, 
the hardest thing for me to give up was the 
work I had hoped to do. I am reconciled, but I 
feel that, in one way, your work may be mine. 
I want you to accept from papa yearly, for three 
years, the same amount that he expended upon 
me when I was at Maynard. Then you can re- 
enter college next fall and complete your course. 
You intend to teach, but this gift will in no way 
hamper your future. You are simply to live your 
life as God wills it. It will make me happy to 
know that the chance that was mine is not lost. 
Now promise me, Agnes, that you will accept 
this.” 

“Thank you, dear Genevieve,” cried Agnes, 
“but that would be too much. I can earn the 
money in time. I have no claim upon your 
father.” 

“I have a claim upon you, my friend — the 
claim of love. Do not disappoint me, Agnes; I 


The Surrender of Agnes’s Will 28 1 


can not bear that. Put your head down here on 
the arm of my chair and ask Jesus about it.’’ 

Agnes obeyed, still holding the hand of her 
friend. It was a solemn moment. Agnes fought 
her pride for a moment, then she forgot all else 
in a cry to God for help to decide aright. 

“I promise, Genevieve. This means much to 
me. I feel God’s Spirit constraining me to do as 
you wish.” 

^‘Thank you, dear. You have made me happy. 
Think of me when you tread the halls of dear 
old Maynard. Do little deeds of kindness for me, 
both when you are at Maynard and when you are 
out in the great needy world. Now, Agnes, help 
me to bed; I am very tired.” 

Agnes went at once to the Marchmonts, and 
told them of her promise to Genevieve. They 
assured her of their gladness because the promise 
was given. 

‘T can not thank you enough for — ” Agnes be- 
gan, but Mrs. Marchmont laid her hand upon the 
girl’s lips. 

‘‘We want no thanks. I am so glad, Agnes. I 
shall love you, and pray God to make your life 
doubly useful for my little girl’s sake.” 


282 Agnes Grant’s Education 


Three days later Genevieve spent a bad after- 
noon. Agnes had been up with her the night be- 
fore, so she retired to her room at an early hour. 
As she kissed her friend good-night, Genevieve 
said: ^‘Always remember, dear, that your promise 
made me very happy. May your days at Maynard 
be crowned with every joy 

Once in bed, Agnes immediately fell asleep, 
and did not awake until the gray light of early 
morning was creeping over the earth. She heard 
steps and subdued voices in the hall. Fearing 
Genevieve might be worse, she rose, hastily 
dressed, and started for the sick-room. At the 
door she met the housekeeper. 

“It is all over. Miss Agnes, she said, tearfully. 
“Miss Genevieve, poor lamb, breathed her last an 
hour ago.’’ 

“Not gone! O, how could I sleep at such a 
time ! Why did not some one call me ?” 

Mrs. Marchmont emerged from her daughter’s 
chamber, and, taking Agnes by the hand, said: 
“Come to my room with me. There is not much 
to tell.” 

The mother was very pale, but composed. 
Agnes gently put her on the couch, and sat down 
by her side. 


The Surrender of Agnes’s Will 283 


“We did not call you, Agnes. She was uncon- 
scious, and — well, perhaps it was selfish, but her 
father and I felt that the last sad hour was ours 
alone. You understand, do you not?” 

“Yes, dear friend,” Agnes replied, through her 
tears. “May God help you in this hour!” 

Agnes remained with the Marchmonts two 
weeks. Then business called Mr. Marchmont to 
Boston, and his wife determined to accompany 
him. All arrangements for Agnes’s return to May- 
nard were completed before their departure. She 
was to be paid a quarterly allowance. Mr. March- 
mont insisted that there were to be no more pinch- 
ing economies. He desired Agnes to dress as well 
as his own daughter had done, and to be able to 
carry on the same charitable work that Genevieve 
had delighted in. 

Agnes spent the summer with the Whitneys 
and Aunt Mary. It had been arranged that Arthur 
should move into the old home, and remain there 
until a purchaser for the farm could be found. 
Arthur was working better, and Agnes was much 
more patient with him than ever before. She often 
spent a day with Gretchen, and when she spoke of 
plans for the education of the children both father 
and mother listened with interest. 


284 Agnes Grant’s Education 

A week before the beginning of the fall term 
Agnes went to Maynard. Mrs. Gregory was wait- 
ing for her at the station. 

‘‘I am so glad to have you in my arms again,” 
the young matron cried warmly. “O, Agnes, what 
a brave girl you have been!” 

It was the words of Professor Gregory that 
woke the keenest delight in the heart of Agnes. 
He came down to the gate to meet her, and looked 
long and closely in her face. 

"‘The year has brought you much,’^ he said, 
slowly. “The best of its gifts are self-command 
and peace.” 

A happy look shone in the girl’s eyes. Like 
Miss Barr, the professor understood. 

For a week Agnes was the guest of the Greg- 
orys. She asked that she might occupy the little 
room with the sloping roof. It brought back viv- 
idly the pain and pleasure of her first term at 
Maynard. 

Other memories came to her. One of the pale, 
sweet-faced girl who used to bend so patiently over 
the pages of the Odyssey or Sophocles. Genevieve 
was not forgotten by the friend for whom she had 
done so much. Agnes tried to reproduce in her 


The Surrender of Agnes’s Will 285 


own life the same sweetness of disposition and care 
for all that had characterized Genevieve. 

At the beginning of the term Agnes took up 
her residence in the same suite of rooms that 
Genevieve had occupied. Her old room at Mrs. 
Gregory’s was to be given to a new student, Olive 
Garrison by name. She was the daughter of a poor 
clergyman, and had secured the same place as 
dining-room girl that Agnes had once filled. 

Agnes found it pleasant to be surrounded by 
the evidences of wealth and culture, to dress well, 
to have money at her command, and to have an 
assured place in society. She had, with rare good 
sense, insisted that the story of Genevieve’s gener- 
osity should be made public. All the world should 
know she was trying to fit herself to do Genevieve’s 
work. 

Both Dr. Taylor and Mrs. Lee gladly wel- 
comed back the bright pupil in whom they had 
been so much interested. Of course, Agnes found 
herself a year behind the class with which she had 
entered, but she straightway set about making her- 
self at home among the Sophomores. 

It was during the enrollment that she first 
caught a glimpse of Olive Garrison. Agnes was 


286 Agnes Grant's Education 


chatting with Harold Hardy, a manly young 
Junior, when Professor Gregory entered the presi- 
dent's room, followed by a short, plump girl, whose 
blushing face and shrinking manner at once pro- 
claimed her to be a new student. 

Agnes noted every detail of her dress — a cheap 
blue flannel, cotton gloves, and a sailor hat. In 
a mirror opposite she caught a glimpse of her 
own trim figure, arrayed in a neat brown serge 
street suit, with kid gloves, and a heavily plumed 
hat to match. 

A great wave of loving sympathy for the 
stranger overflowed her soul. She would gladly 
have given her rich raiment to the other, had it 
been possible. 

‘‘I can give her something better,” she thought. 
Turning to Harold, she said : 

‘Tlease excuse me. I saw a new girl, and I 
am going to attach myself to her, and see if I 
can not make the day a little less dreary to her 
than it was to me — my first enrollment day, I mean. 
Can not you find a similar field of labor? I am 
sorry for the new students.” 

'‘Why, I never thought of that. I well remem- 
ber how the chills chased each other up and down 


The Surrender of Agnes’s Will 287 


my spinal column two years ago. I will see what 
I can do. There ’s Tom Flood. I will coax him 
into the game.” 

Agnes nodded her head. Already a kindly 
thought, prompted by a memory of Genevieve, was 
bearing fruit. 


CHAPTER XIX 


Growing. 


jNES held out a hand from which she had 



removed the dainty glove. ^‘May I not assist 
you about these tiresome matters?’’ she asked. 
‘‘Although I have passed through but one enroll- 
ment day, I consider myself an authority on pro- 
fessors, classes, and lessons.” 

Olive smiled. She had a round face, hazel eyes, 
and a merry smile. “How kind you are !” she ex- 
claimed. “Really, Miss Grant, I have been think- 
ing of running away. To face all these strange 
students is bad enough. When to that you add the 
learned eyes of the professors, or rather the eyes 
of the learned professors, my courage fails.” 

Agnes laughed, a sweet, low laugh which proved 
contagious. “You recall my own sensation two 
years ago. Notwithstanding all the learned talk 


Growing 


289 


about Latin and Greek, I could not help thinking 
of the words of an old neighbor, who, when em- 
barrassed, used to wish ^the airth would open and 
swaller me up/ ” 

The few words of kindly goodfellowship 
wrought a wondrous change in Olive. The con- 
straint vanished. Charming dimples lurked around 
the corners of her mouth. Agnes presented her 
to Mrs. Lee, and that gentle woman was much 
impressed by the new student’s naturalness. 

The two girls left the college together. Agnes 
had not devoted all the morning to Olive. She 
had found time to assist several other students, 
besides smiling upon Harold and his friend Tom, 
who had apparently formed themselves into a com- 
mittee of helpers and advisers. 

As Agnes and Olive left the tree-shaded cam- 
pus for the sunny street, the former saw a shadow 
fall upon the face of her companion. She divined 
its origin. 

‘‘This girl is sensitive, too,” she thought. “Un- 
less carefully helped, she will succeed in making 
herself as miserable as I did.” So, without wait- 
ing for the other to speak, Agnes went straight 
to the heart of the difficulty. 


19 


290 Agnes Grant’s Education 

“Do you know that you not only occupy my 
old room at the home of Mrs. Gregory, but also 
my old place with Mrs. Miner? I waited on table 
there two years ago, and should have done so last 
year had I not been obliged to remain at home.’^ 

The speaker’s quick eye caught aright the sud- 
den brightness which came into Olive’s face. “She 
did know of my poverty, and was just as nice 
and ‘chummy’ with me as if I was a rich girl,” 
was the thought that flashed through the mind of 
Olive. 

Agnes went on : “When you feel depressed be- 
cause of your work, come and talk to me about 
it. I am quite sure you can not conjure up any 
phase of the case that has not troubled me.” 

Olive smiled wistfully. “Will the girls like me 
as well?’^ she asked, her color coming and going. 

“Yes. No one will give the matter much 
thought, for economy and hard work are common 
here. You may find a few, even in Maynard, who 
estimate a person’s worth by the weight of his 
or her purse, but they are not of the better class 
of students. You will be lonely at first, and may 
think the girls neglect you. You must remember 
you are a stranger to the interests they have in 


Growing 


291 


common. I was wickedly proud ; you will not be. 
I wanted to be friends with everybody, but thought 
the duty of being friendly lay wholly with them.” 

Olive threw out her hand with a pretty little 
gesture. ^‘Thank you, dear Miss Grant. You 
have helped me already. It does not seem possi- 
ble that you ever knew aught of poverty or lone- 
liness.” 

They had reached the corner where their ways 
diverged. Agnes stopped, and said: 

“I have all my life been poor. I could not 
have returned to Maynard this year had it not 
been for the generosity of a dear friend. Some 
day I will tell you the story of her beautiful life 
and death. What you call my kindness to you 
would probably never have occurred to me had 
she not asked me to do, in her name, the little 
deeds of thoughtfulness that her love for Jesus 
prompted her to do.” 

Tears stood on the lashes of Olive as she lis- 
tened. “O, I am so glad to hear you speak of 
Him ! His love is the ruling element in your life, 
Miss Grant. I see it in your face.” 

They parted. Olive went to perform a distaste- 
ful task, strengthened and made glad by a cup of 


292 Agnes Grant’s Education 


cold water given in the name of the Son of God. 
Agnes went to her room and knelt down before an 
easel upon which rested a portrait of Genevieve. 

“Do you know how you are helping me, dear?^' 
she whispered. “It is as if you bent down and 
laid your consecrating touch upon my heart, lips, 
•and hands. I will try to do the work you would 
fain have done.^’ 

Agnes took up her studies with a keener de- 
light than ever before. She found time for Church 
duties, for visiting the sick, and relieving the needy. 
She enjoyed many simple social pleasures. It was 
as if the soul that looked from her dark eyes was 
changed. A remark made by Professor Gregory 
put the matter in the fewest words possible. 

“It seems sometimes as if Genevieve March- 
mont gave you the best part of herself,” he said 
one crisp November morning when he overtook 
Agnes on her way to chapel. “Mentally, you were 
her superior. Contact with her gave you that ab- 
sorbing love for divinity that ruled her life. You 
have your own gift, Agnes, and that of Genevieve 
also. You can do double work, and do it well.” 

He passed on. Agnes gave a thought as to 
what this work should be. Yet why should she 


Growing 293 

ask? In God’s own good time she would 
know. 

The Marchmonts had decided to remain in 
Boston, and they insisted on Agnes coming to 
them for the holiday vacation. The girl greatly 
enjoyed her first glimpse of the great world. Mr. 
Marchmont was greatly interested in all Agnes told 
him of Maynard College. 

“I think I shall make Genevieve’s bequest to 
you a permanent thing,” he said, one afternoon, 
when he was driving Agnes in the park. ‘T will 
lay aside each year the amount of your allowance 
for some poor girl who is trying to educate herself. 
Thus my daughter’s work will not stop. Perhaps, 
Agnes, at the end of your own college days you 
can recommend some girl to whom I can extend 
this aid.” 

Her face glowed with delight. The keen air 
had deepened the wild-rose bloom on her cheeks, 
and the sunlight seemed reflected in her eyes. 
“O, how noble!” she cried. ‘Tt will please Gene- 
vieve so much. Yes, mil please, for I am sure 
she knows.” 

There was a short silence. The strong man 
looked away over the stretches of dazzling snow. 


294 Agnes Grant's Education 

Never since the morning he watched her pale lips 
quiver for the last time had his daughter seemed 
so near to him. 

“May I tell you something I am planning to 
do; that is, if you and Mrs. Marchmont approve?” 
Agnes asked after a little. 

He signified his willingness to listen. Agnes 
told him the story of Olive Garrison, as she had 
learned it from the girl’s own lips. Mr. Garrison 
was a minister, and had a large family. After grad- 
uating from the high school of the town where 
her father was stationed, Olive had obtained em- 
ployment in the post-office. Here she had saved 
the money to pay her expenses at Maynard. 

“She can go in the office for the summer vaca- 
tion,” Agnes said, hesitatingly. “The amount she 
will earn, added to the help her father can give 
her, will not be enough to enable her to return 
to Maynard for next year. Mr. Marchmont, my 
allowance is so much. Would you care if I helped 
her? I can do it, and still provide myself with 
many luxuries.” 

“Care!” he repeated. “My wife and myself 
would be delighted to know that our daughter’s 


Growing 


295 

plan was bearing such glorious fruit. Only, Agnes, 
you must not deprive yourself of anything to make 
you happy. I would be glad to help this girl.” 

‘‘There are plenty for you to help,” she cried, 
merrily. “Olive is my special property.” 

Mrs. Marchmont entered eagerly into the plans 
of Agnes. The immediate result of the talk be- 
tween the young student and the mother of Gene- 
vieve was the packing of a great box of clothing, 
books, and other articles for that parsonage home, 
where there was so much planning for Olive. 

On Agnes’s way back she spent one day in De- 
troit with her old friend, Mabel Crandal, then 
Mrs. Sawyer. She found Mrs. Crandal and her 
daughter both unchanged, and the brief visit was 
greatly enjoyed by all. 

On reaching Maynard Agnes gladly took up 
her beloved tasks. The winter was soon gone, 
spring’s sunny days followed, and rose-crowned 
June saw merry throngs gather at Maynard Col- 
lege. 

Agnes spent the summer vacation with her sis- 
ter and aunt. There was a visit to both the Smiths 
and the Bedfords, and a renewal of acquaintance- 


296 Agnes Grant’s Education 


ship with her former pupils. Upon inquiring of 
Mrs. Bedford concerning Frank Raymer, she 
learned that his parents had removed to a distant 
city for the purpose of sending their son to school. 

^‘Your influence upon that boy was of the great- 
est benefit to him,” Mrs. Bedford said, in conclu- 
sion. ‘'He is a noble-hearted Christian boy. His 
parents are able to give him the best advantages. 
Some day you will be proud of your work.” 

“I am glad because of it now,” Agnes replied, 
her eyes shining. “I trust he is not the only young 
person I may influence for good.” 

The going back to Maynard was even more 
pleasant than the year before. It had been ar- 
ranged that Olive should accept the needed help 
from her fellow-student. At first she had reso- 
lutely refused what she called charity. Agnes ex- 
plained that it was a part of the gift of Genevieve, 
and that the sole request of the dying girl had 
been that the money might fit another to do her 
work. Olive saw the beauty of it, and cried : 

“It is a sacred thing. I will accept it, dear 
Miss Grant, and perhaps some day I can help an- 
other poor girl. Thus the work of this beautiful 
Genevieve will go on and on.” 


Growing 


297 

Before starting East to spend again the holi- 
day vacation with the Marchmonts, Agnes re- 
ceived surprising letters both from Gretchen and 
Jennie. The brother of the former had been to 
visit her. He had gone West many years before, 
and now owned a large ranch in Dakota. The 
poverty in which he had found his sister living 
had greatly grieved him. Being unmarried, he 
offered to take the Grants home with him. Arthur 
was given to understand that hard work would 
be expected of him, but for Gretchen and the 
children every comfort should be provided. In- 
stead of being offended, Arthur was roused to 
enthusiasm and talked hopefully of the new life 
to which they were going. Gretchen wrote that 
her brother’s home was within a short distance of 
a good graded school, consequently the children 
would have better educational advantages than if 
they remained in the old home. 

Jennie and Agnes were very fond of Gretchen, 
and they dearly loved the children. Still, they 
could not do otherwise than advise the accept- 
ance of this kind offer. Agnes went to bid her 
brother’s family good-bye before she started for 
the East, as they would be gone before her return. 


298 Agnes Grant’s Education 


It was hard to tell little Nellie good-bye. She 
was greatly attached to Agnes, and clung to her, 
crying bitterly. 

“You ’ll come after me some day, Auntie Agnes, 
won’t you?” she asked. 

In a voice choking with emotion Agnes re- 
plied: “Yes, darling. When I can I will come. 
Do not forget auntie, Nellie. She will always love 
you.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Marchmont warmly welcomed 
their guest. Agnes rebelled against the costli- 
ness of the gifts heaped upon her. This was 
the case when on Christmas morning she found 
at her plate a beautiful gold watch and chain, but 
Mrs. Marchmont would not listen to her protest. 

“We are keeping the promise made our dar- 
ling. You were to accept what we would have 
given her, and it was our delight to lavish upon 
her the pretty things girls love. Besides, you are 
dear to us. I am sure Genevieve rejoices because 
of the joy you give us.” 

The remainder of the school year glided by all 
too quickly. The friendship between Agnes and 
Olive had strengthened. Olive had learned that 


Growing 


299 


her poverty was no bar to the esteem and good-will 
of the Faculty and students of Maynard College. 

She was to have her old position for the sum- 
mer. To the money earned there Agnes would 
add enough to enable Olive to attend college the 
next year. Then she was to become Mr. March- 
mont's protegee, enjoying all the advantages then 
heaped upon Agnes. 

Just before Commencement Agnes was sur- 
prised to learn that Professor Gregory’s connec- 
tion with Maynard would terminate with that year. 
A new college had been founded at Vernor, a grow- 
ing town in Nebraska. This was also a denomina- 
tional institution, being under the control of the 
same Church as was Maynard College. The presi- 
dency of this school had been offered Professor 
Gregory, and accepted by him. 

The leaving of the spot where so many happy 
years had been spent caused the Gregorys real 
pain. The pretty Queen Anne cottage had been 
their home all the years of their married life, and 
many ties bound them to the spot. On the other 
hand, there were pleasant features about the new 
life opening before them. There was the increase 


300 Agnes Grant’s Education 


in salary, the honor paid the attainments and char- 
acter of the professor, and the opportunity to be, 
in a larger sense than before, the molder of the 
lives of the young. 

The parting was harder for the professor than 
for his wife. Maynard was his Alma Mater, and 
his heart cluUg to the old school. It comforted 
him a little when the college of his choice bestowed 
upon him the well-earned title of Doctor of Di- 
vinity. 

Agnes rejoiced in the good fortune of her 
friends, yet greatly deplored their departure from 
Maynard. Not only had her girlish attachment to 
Mrs. Gregory ripened into a true friendship, but 
she had come highly to esteem the grave professor. 

The change made some different arrangements 
necessary regarding the return of Olive for her 
Junior year. The rent taken for the room which 
had first been fitted up for Agnes was merely nomi- 
nal, and covered so many other privileges that the 
young student feared the modest sum she had 
counted upon to cover her expenses would be in- 
adequate. Agnes readily found a way out of the 
difficulty, but, before mentioning it to Olive, she 


Growing 


301 


wrote the Marchmonts for their consent. This was 
readily given. She then invited Olive to share with 
her the elegantly-furnished suite of rooms, which 
had formerly been occupied by Genevieve. 

Agnes always insisted upon those to whom she 
gave understanding that it was the bounty of Gene- 
vieve that they were enjoying. The gratitude of 
Olive was freely given to both. It was well that 
the life of Agnes was pure and true, for Olive could 
see no fault in her friend. 

Vacation time came. Jennie welcomed her sis- 
ter with open arms. 

“It seems so good, dear, to think that we are 
to have you for nearly three months,'’ she said 
on the evening of Agnes’s arrival at the farmhouse. 
“You are to live out of doors, drink milk, and get 
fat.” 

Agnes smiled down into her sister’s face. 
“Your program sounds delightful, and I shall be 
glad to try it.” 

Agnes had worked hard in school, and she 
greatly enjoyed her rest. Her love for nature 
had strengthened with years. She often saw the 
sun rise and wake to life the sleeping world. In 


302 Agnes Grant’s Education 

the noble woodland that formed a part of Whitney 
Farm a swiftly-flowing brook danced musically 
over its pebbly bed. Agnes loved to sit, with folded 
hands, and listen to its song. She was conscious 
that her keen mind, which had been so active for 
months, was gaining strength and self-poise from 
this communion with nature. 


CHAPTER XX 

A New Outlook Upon Life. 

E re the summer was over, Mrs. Kent was 
taken violently ill with inflammatory rheuma- 
tism. Agnes did not wait to be sent for, but went 
at once to her aunt’s side, where she remained for 
many weary weeks. Slowly Mrs. Kent came back 
to health. Dr. Miller declaring her recovery due as 
much to the nursing she had received as to his skill. 
The Kents endeavored to express their gratitude, 
but Agnes would not listen, aflirming that she had 
paid but one installment of the debt she owed them. 

Jennie would always be her aunt’s favorite. 
There was something congenial to Mrs. Kent’s 
nature in the housewifely matron that was lacking 
in the student. Still the good woman was both 
fond and proud of Agnes. 

303 


304 Agnes Grant’s Education 


‘‘I declare, Agnes, it surprises me to think that 
you are a college woman and able to read that 
thing, she said one afternoon, pointing to a Ger- 
man book her niece had just laid down. ‘‘You were 
always a surprise to me. I am proud of you, but 
I expect to be still prouder if the Lord spares my 
life a little longer. What do you expect to be, 
Agnes ?” 

Agnes was leaning against the screen-door, 
looking dreamily down the street. She crossed 
the room, and sat down on a stool at her aunt’s 
feet. 

“A teacher. Aunt Mary,” was her grave reply 
to the other’s question. “Dr. Taylor thinks, after 
next year, he can secure a position in a high 
school for me. I am eager for the opportunities 
of my new life, but not anxious. God will give into 
my hands the work he wants me to do.” 

She paused. For a time no sound broke the 
silence, save the chirruping of the canary and the 
droning of a golden-winged bee outside. Agnes 
laid her hand upon that of Mrs. Kent, and asked : 

“Have you ever thought of your connection 
with it all? I could not have entered Maynard 
had not your kindness enabled me to graduate 


A New Outlook Upon Life 305 


from Walters. Then I would not have met Gene- 
vieve, and accepted the trust she reposed in me. 
That has brought into my life a new and sweet 
assurance of God's love, an experience so deep that 
I trust my life's work — ^the work I am to do in her 
name — will bear much fruit for the Master. Owing 
to Mr. Marchmont's generosity, I have been able 
to aid Olive. Without your help, Aunt Mary, I 
do not see how all this could have been brought 
about." 

Notwithstanding her usual undemonstrative- 
ness, Mrs. Kent's slow tears dripped upon the 
hand of Agnes. never thought of it in that 
way, dear, but it makes me happy to hear you 
say it. I am grateful that God would use a poor 
ignorant woman like me to bring about so much 
good. May he bless your work, no matter what 
it may be !" 

Letters came frequently from Gretchen. It was 
evident that her life was far easier and happier 
than since her marriage. She wrote that Arthur 
liked the country, and was hard at work ; that the 
children were well and happy, and that she was 
content, longing only to see the dear sisters who 
had been so much to her. 


20 


Agnes Grant’s Education 


When enrollment day came, Agnes was con- 
scious of a feeling of regret. It began her last 
year at Maynard. As the result of the personal 
work instituted by herself, there was little oppor- 
tunity for a new student to feel the sense of isola- 
tion which she had suffered from. 

Perhaps no student at Maynard so influenced 
the life of the college as did Agnes Grant. Her 
personal magnetism and the abundant means at 
her command had something to do with this; the 
love that filled her heart for God and for humanity 
had far more. 

While she was spending her Christmas vacation 
in Boston an incident occurred which brought the 
past vividly back to her. She had entered an art 
store, and, while enjoying the beauty about her, 
was suddenly recalled from her dreams by hearing 
a voice exclaim: 

‘‘I tell you, Paul Crandal, if you would only 
give up these fads and attend to business you 
might win a place among the best artists of this 
land. That picture is a gem, and will bring you 
a neat sum.” 

Agnes looked keenly at the two men. The 


A New Outlook Upon Life 307 


speaker, a florid-faced German, was facing her. 
The other, a slender man with dark hair, stood 
with his face turned from her, apparently contem- 
plating the picture of which they were speaking. 
Agnes directed her gaze to it. 

It was a bit of woodland. The placid lake re- 
flected the trees in its calm waters, and the softly- 
tinted sunset in the background appealed strongly 
to the sense of the beautiful. 

‘Tt suggests restfulness and peace, she 
thought. 'T must see the face of the artist.’’ 

He turned just then, and she saw the well- 
remembered dark face, with the receding chin and 
dreamy black eyes. A heavy black mustache was 
the only change. 

“You may be right,” he said, in answer to his 
companion. “I have heard the same thing many 
times. As to what you call my fads — well, I am 
not sure even of them. I sought in literature for 
information regarding the skepticism in which I 
was honestly trying to find light, but it failed me. 
My lectures seem to me the best way to combat 
and overthrow fanaticism. In the meantime, I 
paint — to forget.” 


Agnes Grant’s Education 


Agnes felt that she had already listened to too 
much. She stepped forward, saying : 

“Excuse me. Am I not addressing Paul Cran- 
dal, formerly of Walters?” 

“Yes, and you are Agnes Grant.” There was 
no surprise in the drawling voice. “I should have 
known you anywhere.” 

Paul’s companion withdrew, leaving the two 
old friends to tell the story of the years that had 
passed since last they met. 

Thanks to Mabel, each was aware of the most 
salient points in the other’s history. Paul mani- 
fested a little surprise on learning that Agnes still 
intended to teach; he had supposed she was the 
adopted daughter of the Marchmonts. 

When questioned regarding his art he gave 
evasive replies. Regarding his lectures he dis- 
played more enthusiasm, and Agnes decided that 
they were something new. Upon learning that 
the subject of these lectures was skepticism, or 
what Paul called “advanced thought,” Agnes 
showed her pain, and he attempted a vindication 
of his position. 

“You do not look at such things from the 
right point of view, Agnes,” he said, uncon- 


A New Outlook Upon Life 309 

sciously going back to the old familiar name. 
'‘You have never investigated the matter. Your 
ideas partake of the credulity of childhood. Men 
learn to think differently about these things.'^ 

Agnes thought of Professor Gregory and Dr. 
Taylor. Both were intellectually far above 
Paul Crandal, yet they worshiped God as their 
Infinite Father, and Jesus as his Son and .their 
Savior. 

“Are you better or happier for your superior 
views?’’ she asked, a little sarcasm creeping into 
her voice. “I do look at this from another point 
of view — from that of your mother.” 

He flushed uneasily. “My mother — ” he began, 
but his tone of lofty superiority failed him, and he 
went on gently : “My mother is a saint.” 

“She is a noble Christian woman,” Agnes said 
in a firm voice. “Go where you will, do what you 
will, Paul, you can never escape from the influence 
of her prayers.” 

He had grown pale. “You are right !” he ex- 
claimed, huskily. Then he made a strong effort 
to subdue his emotion, and a moment later asked 
easily: “Are you to remain long in the city. Miss 
Grant?” 


310 Agnes Grant’s Education 

She replied in the same constrained manner in 
which he had spoken. Then the conversation 
drifted to the picture. Paul accompanied her to 
Mr. Marchmont’s door, and promised to call the 
next evening. 

Agnes spoke of this meeting to her host. Mr. 
Marchmont knew Paul slightly, and spoke in tones 
of disapprobation of him. 

‘‘He is not dissipated. As an artist it is con- 
ceded he might win fame and fortune if he would 
devote himself to his work. He is fickle. Even 
as a skeptic he is always leaving one error for an- 
other. It is a sad sight — a young life that might 
be productive of good, wrecked for the want of 
principle and ambition.’’ 

Agnes felt the force of these stern words the 
next evening when Paul entered the parlor. Sev- 
eral other guests were present, and the clever 
young artist made himself very entertaining. 
Agnes had no opportunity of speaking alone with 
him until he bade her good-night. 

“Ten years since we met,” he said, musingly. 
“Then you were a bashful school-girl, eager to 
conquer the world of books. Now I find you a 
college-bred woman, but still eager to try the reali- 


A New Outlook Upon Life 3 1 1 

ties of life. You have retained your childish trust 
in people and things. Where will we meet again 

^‘That is a question neither of us can answer,’^ 
she replied. ‘‘Do you remember my brother, the 
crippled boy who was once entertained at your 
home?^’ 

“Perfectly,’’ and a gleam of delight came to 
Paul’s eyes. “I have several studies of his face. 
I can never forget the look of divinity, if I may 
so speak of it, that came into his eyes that Christ- 
mas Eve when we were discussing the future. 
Could I reproduce that on canvas I would be con- 
tent.” 

“When you think of that I wish you would re- 
member that Bertie carried out his future as 
planned that night. Surely, Paul, your boasted 
reason must tell you that there is something be- 
yond mistaken zeal in a faith which trustingly 
receives all that Bertie accepted because God 
knows best.” 

He could not reply. After lingering a little 
he held her hand in a firm clasp, then, with a 
graceful bow, left her. As Paul Crandal made 
his way along the street, there rose up before 
him that look of wondrous calm, that haunting 


312 Agnes Grant’s Education 

sense of separateness from, and elevation above, 
the cares of life which had looked out from the 
eyes of the crippled lad. What was it? 

Agnes returned to Maynard without again 
meeting Paul. The days glided uneventfully by. 
Her last year was a busy one, for she had taken 
extra work. She had made German a specialty, 
hoping to obtain a position to teach it. 

She greatly missed the Gregorys. Letters from 
them gave accounts of the difficulties attending the 
opening of a new college, yet told of much pleasure 
in the work. There appeared to be a wide field 
of usefulness opening before Vernor College, and 
Professor (now Dr.) Gregory wrote in terms of 
praise of the sterling good qualities of the pupils 
gathered under his charge. 

Agnes and Olive found their joint occupancy 
of the same rooms very pleasant. It had been 
arranged that Olive should remain there the next 
year, receiving from Mr. Marchmont the same lib- 
eral allowance that Agnes had enjoyed. 

Winter was succeeded by spring. As the days 
lengthened, and all nature quickened into new life, 
the heart of Agnes swelled with emotion. That 


A New Outlook Upon Life 313 

was the last spring that she could watch the trees 
around Maynard College send out their delicate 
green foliage, and the hills off to the south change 
from dull brown to velvety emerald. Where would 
she watch this miracle of nature next year? 

She was not worried over this question. The 
way would be made plain. She thought much of 
the responsibility resting upon her, for she con- 
sidered the work upon which she should enter as 
Genevieve’s no less than her own. 

Dr. Taylor had made several applications to 
different schools for her. Nearly all of these were 
to decide about Commencement time. Agnes was 
much touched by a letter from Gretchen. The 
brother of Mrs. Grant was president of the school 
board in the thriving village near his home. A po- 
sition here was offered Agnes at a salary of fifty 
dollars a month. Gretchen went on to say that it 
might be that Agnes could do better, besides, there 
was little of the society to which she had become 
accustomed in that new country. 

^'But should you decide to come,” the letter 
ran, *'you will be most joyfully welcomed by us 
all, and especially by me. I can never forget your 


314 Agnes Grant’s Education 

kindness to the homesick little foreigner. In my 
heart, dear sister, there will always be a place for 
you.” 

Agnes replied, thanking Gretchen, and prom- 
ising to lay the matter before Dr. Taylor. The 
president of the college was determined that Agnes 
should have a good situation. He looked forward 
to a bright future for the student who had so thor- 
oughly proved her ability. 

Commencement was the last week in June. 
Never had Maynard College been fairer to the 
eye than on those perfect summer days when 
the well-kept campus was dotted with visitors. 
Among these Agnes had many friends. Not only 
had Jennie, Guy, and Aunt Mary come to witness 
the honor Agnes had won, but the Marchmonts 
also arrived at Maynard on the Saturday preced- 
ing Commencement Sunday. 

Agnes had decided that from that time she 
would cease to accept the bounty of her kind 
friends. Mrs. Marchmont had insisted on order- 
ing, in addition to the graduating dress, a generous 
supply of new clothing, and Mr. Marchmont put 
into her hand a check for one hundred dollars. 


A New Outlook Upon Life 315 

She opened her lips to remonstrate, but he said, 
gravely : 

'‘Child, you took my daughter’s place. Do you 
think I would have let her enter upon a new situ- 
ation penniless? Next year Olive Garrison shall 
receive the same allowance and gifts that have 
been yours. After that you and I will find some 
other needy girl.” 

Agnes took his hand in both her own, and 
pressed it to her lips. 

"There, there, little girl,” and the strong man’s 
voice was not steady. "I am sure she knows and 
is glad.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Marchmont were very proud of 
Agnes that Sabbath morning when they attended 
service at the college chapel. Dr. Taylor preached 
the Baccalaureate sermon, and Agnes sat, with the 
other members of the graduating class, directly in 
front of the speaker. From her seat near, the 
mother of Genevieve Marchmont watched the 
glowing face of the girl who had promised to try 
to fill her beloved daughter’s place in the busy, 
needy world. As the tear-dimmed eyes of the be- 
reaved mother saw the look of eager hopefulness 


3i 6 Agnes Grant’s Education 


deepen on the countenance of Agnes, she mur- 
mured: *lt is well.” 

Dr. Taylor spoke feelingly of the triumphs he 
expected to see won by the students so soon to 
enter upon the active duties of life. He declared 
that the world needed sound bodies, cultured 
minds, and — greatest need of all — loving hearts. 
Not in their own strength would they win the most 
lasting honors, but by a thorough surrender to the 
will of God. Love — the love that ‘‘seeketh not 
her own,” but ‘‘hopeth all things” — ^would be their 
true life. 

Agnes bowed her head and thought prayer- 
fully of her own new life. When she joined her 
friends at the close of the services her face was 
illumined with the light of perfect peace. 

Among the gifts received by Agnes at this 
time was one which gave her a joy too deep for 
words. It was a life-sized portrait of Bertie, ap- 
parently painted by Paul Crandal. A wistful radi- 
ance looked from the eyes, and the artist had 
caught something of the restfulness and perfect 
love that had marked the face of the lad. 

After Agnes had recovered from the emotion 
that the sight of the picture awakened, she re- 


A New Outlook Upon Life 317 

called her conversation with Paul. Was this a 
token that the artist had turned from his old path? 
Surely no skeptic had painted that face. There 
was no address, so she could not, at that time at 
least, learn if her hope for a change in Paul was 
fulfilled. 

The day arrived on which the diplomas were 
to be given. On that morning Dr. Taylor told 
Agnes that a position to which they had both been 
looking with confidence, had been given to another. 

also received a communication from the 
Hastings School Board,^' he went on, regretfully. 
“While the reply was not final, it plainly intimated 
that your lack of experience was a serious ob- 
stacle.” 

The light on Agnes’s face dimmed a little. She 
said: “There is always the Dakota offer. That 
must either be accepted or rejected within a week. 
Perhaps something better may come before that 
time. If not, I must content myself with that.” 

“I do not like to think of your burying your 
talents in that out-of-the-way place for — ” he be- 
gan testily, but she interruped him. 

“If no other path opens would you not think 
God meant that I should walk in that one ?” 


31 8 Agnes Grant’s Education 


A thoughtful look came into Dr. Taylor’s 
eyes. It was not the first time that a clear-cut 
question from his pupil had caused him to look 
at a matter in a new light. 

“I believe you are right,” he said, slowly. “As 
he has led you thus far, he will lead you to the end.” 

Removing his hat. Dr. Taylor reverently 
bowed his head. Agnes instead turned her face 
to the smiling summer sky. The disappointment 
was gone from her heart. 

It was a solemn hour for her when she received 
her diploma. She had gained much; far more lay 
just beyond. All unrest concerning the future had 
fallen away from her. It was safe in God’s hands, 
and with it was the strength and wisdom she would 
need to spend it aright. In good time they would 
be hers. 

Thus, upborne by a sense of God’s nearness, 
Agnes went through the hours of that day, and 
the banquet that occupied the evening. It was 
late when she went up to her rooili. Olive had 
started for home an hour before, so she was alone. 
She looked round the pretty rooms where, for 
three years, she had been so happy. Some letters 
lying on the table caught her eye. 


A New Outlook upon Life 319 


She took them up. There were three, all bear- 
ing the postmark of Vernor. One was addressed 
in the well-known hand of Mrs. Gregory, another 
in the heavy one of the doctor, and the writing on 
the third she did not recognize. 

“Congratulations,” she murmured. “I won- 
dered that I did not hear from them. Whom can 
the third letter be from? Well, I must rest a mo- 
ment before I read them.” 

She slipped into a white wrapper, and brushed 
her dark hair into a massive braid. Then she sat 
down by the open window, and again took up the 
letters. 

Many emotions were mirrored in her eyes as 
she read them. When she had finished the last 
one, she laid her cheek on the window sill, and, 
while the soft night air fanned her flushed cheek, 
a fervent prayer of thanksgiving and loving trust 
ascended on high. 

Dr. Gregory had secured for her the po- 
sition of instructor in Latin and German at Vernor 
College, the letter in the unknown hand being a 
formal notification of her appointment. It had 
been agreed with Dr. Taylor that Agnes should 
know nothing of the application unless it was sue- 


320 Agnes Grant’s Education 

cessful. The salary was one thousand dollars for 
the first year, with the promise of an increase 
should the work of Agnes prove satisfactory. 

Mrs. Gregory dwelt upon the possibilities of 
the school. There were many students contend- 
ing bravely with poverty, and striving for a cul- 
tured Christian manhood and womanhood. Much 
work for the Master was waiting to be done, and 
Agnes was to be one of the happy helpers called 
to labor in the field. 

So, on the threshold of an active, useful life, 
we leave her. Her education is, after all, but 
begun. 


















SEP 13 1902 

* 

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